


Just Friends (or Why Draco Malfoy Shouldn't Have Sex in His Office)

by unadulteratedstorycollector



Series: Just Friends (or Why Draco Malfoy Shouldn't Have Sex in His Office) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Bottom Harry Potter, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Fuckbuddies, Graphic Draco/Blaise, M/M, Office Chairs, Office Sex, Rimming, Top Draco Malfoy, blow jobs - Harry receiving, flangst, stupid competitions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-07 20:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10369206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedstorycollector/pseuds/unadulteratedstorycollector
Summary: Harry and Draco are Auror partners, friends, and um... well, that's it. Yes, Hermione, that is it. At least it is until Harry catches him doing a certain something that he can't get out of his mind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the wonderful crazyparakiss for her wonderful beta reading. You are amazing, and I can't begin to describe how much you've helped me. Any mistakes remaining are mine. Thank you to HP community for being brilliant and inspirational and helping me when I got horribly stuck. Thank you MODs for all the hard work you've put into the fest. And last but not least: thanks _melodic_ for the awesome prompt. I hope you like it as much as I loved writing it.

They stand, surrounded by flattened corn. Harry puts his hands on his waist, looking up at the sky. Aliens. Sure. He didn’t even know there were crop circles in England. He’s pretty sure it’s an American thing. Why would they even think about making a crop circle in England? It’s not like anyone in the East Anglian countryside was really going to believe it was aliens. Although, actually, clearly they did, else he wouldn’t be standing there.

“I can’t believe we got sent out here to deal with this,” his partner drawls, coming up to stand behind Harry. Rolling his eyes, he resolutely ignores Malfoy. Obviously it’s complete crap. They only got sent because Harry and Robards are currently engaging in a battle of wits for the nice office chair. Well, he calls it a battle of wits. Malfoy calls it a battle of idiots in front of Robards. In front of Harry he changes the word battle to “fucking childish games” and the word idiots to “dickheads”. Harry tries not to find it funny, it is sort of insulting him, but it is. Also, he’s sort of right.

“I can't believe you don’t recognise that level of petty, Malfoy,” Harry mutters back to him and Malfoy shoots him an exasperated look before drawing his wand. Harry jumps spinning in a circle to make sure there aren't any Muggles in the area.

“Calm down, Potter, they're inside with Goodson’s team being Obliviated,” Malfoy smirks before going back to his casting. Harry sticks his tongue out at the back of Malfoy’s head, because it's the only thing he can think of to do that won't get him hexed back, before pulling out his wand and joining Malfoy in looking for magical signatures.

After a few minutes Harry manages to pick something up, and it seems so does Malfoy because the other man turns and gives Harry a warm, genuine smile. Harry grins back at him, excitement bubbling in his chest. If they solve this one in a day then he'll be one step closer to getting the good chair without the broken wheels. The chair that belongs to him anyway. Robards wouldn’t even know about Muggle office chairs with wheels if it wasn't for Harry getting one in his office.

“Got them,” Malfoy says and Harry nods, making a note of the signatures. Malfoy does the same, shooting a sly grin at Harry. It used to piss Harry off when Malfoy did the exact same work as he'd just done, but there had been a couple of times when it had actually been useful. Like when Robards asked them questions that Harry couldn't answer and Malfoy, obviously, could. Malfoy gives him one last smirk and spins on his heel, Disapparating with a loud crack. Harry sighs, looking around to check there's nothing else there they need and turns, leaving the stupid crop circle.

“What took you so long?” Malfoy demands when Harry lands, his long finger wrapping around Harry’s arm painfully to stop him from falling. Harry glares at him and straightens.

“I-” Harry starts.

“I don't actually need you to answer, Potter,” Malfoy let's go of his arm and grins, “you were probably doing something tedious like checking we hadn't left anything behind.” Harry feels a bubble of something that could be affection or annoyance in his chest. Of course he was checking. And of course Malfoy knows. He's been watching Harry work for five years.

“Yeah, well… someone has to,” Harry grumbles, knowing that he looks like a grumpy child having a hissy fit. But, really. It’s almost like Draco didn’t learn anything in Auror training, or in the war. Or at any point in the past five years.

“Indeed,” Malfoy raises one eyebrow, his lips twitching and Harry can't help but laugh.

“So do you want to go and see Dolores, and I'll go and start writing up the paperwork?” He says, smiling at his partner as they start to walk towards their office. Malfoy glances at him, his lips drawn thin and one eyebrow still raised. Harry gives him a shove with his shoulder and Malfoy smiles.

“Don't be ridiculous, Potter, your handwriting is atrocious. I will be writing the report, as usual. You can go and visit Dolores.” His smile turns into a smirk and Harry runs his hand through his hair. It’s not that Dolores down in the Magical Signatures Registry isn’t lovely. It’s just that she’s an over-enthusiastic twenty year old who thinks that the sun rises directly from Harry’s arse. And every time he goes down there she tries to convince him to go on a date, and really there are only so many times he can tell her that he has plans already. Maybe he could convince Malfoy or Blaise to pretend to be his boyfriend. They do it when groupies surround him in the pub. He frowns, stopping and turning towards Malfoy.

“How about we both go and see Dolores and I buy the drinks tonight?” He offers, crossing his arms and watching as Malfoy considers it, almost rolling his answer around in his mouth. Finally he looks at Harry, his hair falling into one eye and his smile crooked.

“How about we both visit Dolores, you buy the drinks tonight and I pick where we go?” he counter-offers. Harry laughs and jumps on it.

“Done!” He shouts, sticking a hand out. Malfoy takes his hand and shakes it in one strong movement before turning and striding down the hall, his robes billowing behind him.

“Excellent. Hurry along, Potter, the quicker we do this the quicker we can get a drink,” he calls over his shoulder. Harry rolls his eyes and follows the blond, feeling oddly triumphant.

\-----

“The problem with eighteen year olds,” Harry groans as they sit in the pub, “is that they're not underage, so their spell work outside of school isn't logged, but they're still teenagers. They still want to do stupid stuff like make crop circles in East fucking Anglia.” Beside him Ron snorts. It’s alright for him. He works in a fucking joke shop. He doesn’t have to spend all day listening to Malfoy moan about the crappy cases they get.

“Hmm… it's better than what we were doing at eighteen,” Malfoy says, finishing off his glass of wine. Blaise leans forward and fills his glass, rolling his eyes at Harry. He didn’t think he ever would, but Harry really likes Blaise. Maybe not enough to ever fuck him again, but enough that he enjoys hanging around with him.

“Speak for yourself!” Ron scoffs, wrinkling his nose at Malfoy, “We were working bloody hard to make sure a fucking crackpot didn't take over the world.” Harry laughs and drains his pint. Being eighteen sucked.

“Yes, yes, Weasley, we all thank you very much,” Malfoy drawls, leaning back in his chair, “think about your brothers though… what were they doing at eighteen?” Ron puts his finger to his chin in mock thought and then turns to Malfoy and smirks.

“Sticking it to Umbridge?” Ron wiggles his eyebrows at Malfoy. Blaise chuckles to himself as Harry guffaws. It’s strange to think of them back them, eighteen years old and full of life. George is still like that most of the time, but occasionally one of them will find him at the Burrow, curled in a ball crying, Fred’s clock hand clutched to his chest. They’re still trying to figure out the best way to help him in those situations. Mostly it’s sending Angelina a Patronus and sitting with George until she arrives, tears running down her face. Harry takes a deep breath and runs his hand over his face, forcing the tears back.

“In a rather spectacular fashion, if I must say,” Malfoy smiles at Ron sadly, “but that doesn’t change the fact that at eighteen we weren’t exactly doing things that were… legal.”

“Some more than others.” Ron mutters into his pint, his eyes sparkling and his lips quirked into a grin. Malfoy rolls his eyes and leans forward on the table. A bubble of happiness swells in Harry’s chest. It’s nice to be able to sit with his friends and talk about the past without worrying that hexes are going to be thrown. It had taken a couple of years, and what Harry calls grovelling but Malfoy calls politely apologising, for any of them to be comfortable around each other. That and George punching Malfoy in the face once before calling an end to the fighting. Malfoy had had a black eye the next day, but he and George had become inseparable for a while. George had even been the one to convince Malfoy that he really needed to move out of Malfoy Manor. Malfoy clears his throat.

“Yes. Thank you, Weasley. My point is–”

“Yeah, yeah… we ran around doing insane things when we were eighteen, but because we had an actual goal our crazy things weren’t meaninglessly destructive, unlike the youth of today.” Harry interrupts, holding his hand out for another pint. One appears in front of him, because of course it would in this stupidly posh place Malfoy has chosen, and he turns back to the group. The three of them are staring at him looking amused. “Have I said that before?” Harry wonders. Malfoy smirks at him, his eyebrows quirking slightly, and Harry looks around at them, frowning. “What?” he snaps, sure that he’s missing something. They are definitely taking the piss out of him, for some reason. If he hadn’t had so much beer, he’s pretty sure he could figure out what he’s done to make them look at each other like they’re know something Harry doesn’t.

“I think you’re rubbing off on him, Draco,” Blaise says, sounding bored. His eyes shine as he takes a sip of his wine and Harry knows. If there’s any way of knowing when Blaise is taking the piss it’s when he starts talking about Harry as if Harry isn’t there.

“He wishes!” Ron barks and Harry scowls

“What are you lot on about?” he demands, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. He is definitely not drinking around these three any more. He never thought he would see the day when Ron would be ganging up against him with a couple of Slytherins. Ron bends at the waist as he cackles, and claps him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it mate.” Ron winks before turning back to Blaise and starting a conversation with him about the Cannons. Harry looks at Malfoy to ask him what they were on about but the look he gets from the blond stops any thought. Something flickers in Malfoy’s eyes as he raises one eyebrow, his lips twitching, before he turns and joins the other two in conversation, leaving Harry to stare at him and wonder what the fuck had just happened.

\-----

“Are you mental?” Harry shouts across the room. His whole body feels hot, so full of blood and air and anger it makes his fingers tingle. Malfoy stares at him, one eyebrow quirked, his lips drawn thin and white. He's just as pissed off as Harry. Good. He should be. The fucker.

“I think you have the monopoly on that, Potter,” Malfoy snarls, springing from his chair. A lock of hair falls in front of his face and Harry has the urge to reach over and yank it. Malfoy always becomes more pompous when he's angry. Which is unfortunate because a pompous Malfoy make Harry want to hit him. Hard. In the face.

“How could you possibly think interviewing the mother was a good idea?” Harry growls and slams his fist down on the desk. Pain shoots through his hand and up his arm and there's a pleasing sort of crack. Malfoy snorts and leans back, crossing his arms elegantly across his chest. The fucking self-righteous prick.

“It was a good idea because she's a suspect,” Malfoy snorts inelegantly, like he's bored of explaining this to Harry.

“No, she's a witness that we suspect might be a fucking suspect!” Harry can feel the words ripping from his throats and he's vaguely aware that the door is open. Fuck it. Anyone listening will be used to this by now. “We needed more evidence before she became a suspect.”

“Evidence which I got by interviewing her,” Malfoy says, like he's being perfectly reasonable. Harry stomps around his desk, his heart beating too fast, his fingers and toes tingling with adrenaline. He stalks over to Malfoy’s desk, needing to be closer to Malfoy for reasons he doesn't want to explore but he's pretty sure has something to do with wanting to hit the wanker.

“You shouldn't have even been thinking about interviewing her!” Harry bellows, tugging at his hair. His body feels heavy, too heavy for a Wednesday morning. There's a familiar tight knot in his stomach and he feels too hot. Once upon a time he used to love this feeling. He shakes the thought from head before he can start thinking about why he doesn't any more. He glares at Malfoy’s smirking face and his chest hurts. “But of course the rules don't fucking matter to a Malfoy.” He spits.

“That's fucking rich coming from you,” Malfoy laughs, a humourless, empty laugh that Harry hates. He freezes, Malfoy’s words sinking in.

“What?” he snaps, his voice suddenly low. He can feel his heart pound in his ears, a lump forming in his throat he’s so angry.

“Exactly how many times did you and your little gang break the rules when we were younger?” Malfoy snarls, leaning forward on his desk, looking like he’s fucking superior. Harry screams, a low guttural sound that makes him feel light headed and sick at the same time. He slams his fists on the desk and leans forward, his face inches from Malfoy’s face. Malfoy’s stupid smirking face.

“We were kids! It was a war!” He can’t control himself, can’t control his voice. He knows he shouldn’t be shouting at his partner, that if it were five years ago they’d be called in by Robards for a dressing down. But this isn’t five years ago, and Robards got bored of pulling them in for arguing sometime around the fiftieth fight.

“And this is a, frankly boring, B&E. A B&E that we're only on because you can't buy yourself a chair.” Malfoy’s voice is too smooth, his actions too controlled. Harry takes a deep breath, looking into Malfoy’s eyes, the back of his neck tingling at the intensity of his stare.

“Don't you fucking dare blame this on the chair!” he growls and Malfoy snorts, standing up and puffing out his chest. Harry feels the anger making his chest ache, his body too hot and his mouth dry.

“I'm not blaming it on the chair. I'm blaming it on you,” Malfoy says, his voice completely indifferent. Like he’s being fucking reasonable. Like he thinks that all Harry is worth is this shitty game he has going on with Robards. His head buzzes and he can’t hear, can barely see. He needs to leave.

“Fuck you!” Harry hisses, pushing away from the table and marching over to his desk. He needs air. He needs a walk. He needs a drink. He needs… to not hit Malfoy.

“Eloquent,” Malfoy huffs, his eyes trained on Harry as Harry collects his stuff from his desk. Harry’s back prickles as he feels Malfoy’s eyes on him. He’s always stuck between enjoying the feeling and hating it. Fuck it. He hates it. He focuses on the anger in his stomach and grabs his wand and wallet. He has one more glance at Malfoy before stalking to the door. “Where are you going?” Malfoy asks, his voice fucking smooth.

“I can't look at you right now. I need to get a cup of tea.” Harry waves his hand, not wanting to look at Malfoy, but unable to look anywhere else. He just looks so fucking arrogant and… something.

“Good. Piss off. It gives me time to write up this report.” Malfoy folds himself into his chair and summons his self-filling quill. Harry screams in frustration and stalks from the room, ignoring the smirk from his annoying partner.

\-----

Harry passes Ron and Malfoy a beer and tries very hard not to think about how fucking annoying Malfoy is. Annoying and clearly wrong. Although, when Harry had come back with two cups of tea Malfoy had done all the paperwork and sent a memo to Robards explaining that, yes, he had broken procedure, but he’d found out that the mother was the one who had broken into the flat. Which was nice of him. And he’d appreciated the tea.

He’d managed to calm down enough to allow Malfoy to come over to the flat after work for a drink. He tries not to think about how weird it would have been if Malfoy wasn’t there. He always comes round on Wednesday. Malfoy takes the beer, reading the label before taking a sip and indignation rumbles in the pit of Harry’s stomach.

“You’re welcome…” he mumbles, flopping down on his sofa. Malfoy sneers at him from his place on Harry’s favourite armchair. It’s big and squishy and despite what Hermione calls it, it is armchair and not a two person ‘love seat’. He loves his living room. It’s big and airy, with high ceilings and a large bay window. He’s filled it with big comfortable chairs and bookshelves that are too full. Not that he has much time for reading, but they remind him of Hermione. A big TV sits in the corner, with shelves of DVDs above it, and Harry thanks the universe every time he sits down to watch it that he’s found a flat in a Muggle-wizarding area.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Scarhead, did I not bow down enough and express my gratitude?” Malfoy snips and Harry scowls at him. Because, of course, he had to be snarky and horrible when he’s sitting in Harry’s living room, drinking Harry’s beer.

“Fuck off, Ferret,” he gripes and Malfoy snorts, sipping at his beer. Ron groans and chugs back half of his beer before looking between the two of them. Harry’s feels his stomach clench and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his heart, as he glares at Malfoy. Malfoy stares back at him, unblinking. Most people would think he looks bored, but Harry can see the tell-tale twitch in his jaw where he’s clenching his teeth.

“Bloody hell, can you two just stop already?” Ron finally snaps.

“No!” They shout in unison, their glares transferring to Ron. The door opens and Hermione sweeps in, a glass of wine in her hand and a frown on her face. She looks at the three of them before settling herself between Harry and Ron.

“What’s going on?” Hermione asks, looking around the room.

“They’re having a domestic.” Ron says, sipping from his bottle. Hermione rolls her eyes.

“No we’re not!” Harry exclaims, the irritation bubbling in his chest. They’re not having a bloody domestic. They’re legitimately arguing because Malfoy broke procedure to solve a case without even talking to Harry about it beforehand. He tries to ignore the fact that Malfoy not telling him might be pissing him off more than the fact that he broke procedure.

“Yeah you are. Seriously, though, what actually happened that means you two can’t get over yourselves?” Harry glances at Malfoy, lounging in his chair like he’s a fucking king and widens his eyes at Ron, trying his best to signal to his friend that they can’t talk about it. Not now. Ran stares at him, almost blankly and Harry knows he understands. Except now everyone is staring at him.

“Uh… we can’t actually tell you–”

“And by that he means he’ll tell you later.” Malfoy cuts in, sipping from his bottle and staring at Harry, one eyebrow raised. Harry growls, the sound coming from low in his throat.

“Fuck off!” he snarls, his chest tight and his hand clenched around the bottle. Fuck Malfoy, with his knowing smirk, and his stupid shining eyes, and his bloody raised eyebrow.

“No,” Malfoy states simply, before putting his bottle down and turning to talk to Ron and Hermione, “We’re on a ridiculous breaking and entering and I interviewed a SUSPECT who wasn’t actually a suspect yet and Potter is pissed off because it wasn’t following procedure.” Harry stares at him, his mouth hanging open. They’re not supposed to talk about their cases. Ok, so he definitely would have told them later, but that’s not the point. Everyone knows that Harry tells Ron and Hermione everything. Malfoy isn’t supposed to be the one to tell them about secret work related things that they shouldn’t know. That’s Harry’s job.

“Since when have you cared about procedure?” Ron frowns, looking over at Harry. Harry opens his mouth when Malfoy cuts in.

“Thank you, Weasley–”

“Since I decided that I needed to grow up.” Harry glares at the three of them and Hermione smiles, patting his knee. He loves Hermione. He can always rely on her to be on his side.

“Whatever,” Ron shrugs, “So did they do it?” Harry grinds his teeth together and avoids looking at Malfoy. Because he knows, just knows, that Malfoy will have that fucking smug look on his face that he absolutely hates. It’s the same look he gets every time Harry forgets something and he wants to prove how much better he is than Harry. Not that he really needs to prove it. He is a very good Auror.

“It seems like it…” he grits out, resolutely not looking at his armchair.

“And how do you know?” Malfoy sings and Harry shoots him a glare.

“Because Malfoy broke procedure and went to talk to her…” He takes a deep breath, almost knowing what’s coming up.

“So does it really matter that he broke procedure?” Ron asks, his lips twitching into a smile. He’s enjoying this way too much. Malfoy gives a cheer that sounds something like excitement, picking his bottle back up.

“Thank you!–”

“Ron!” Harry shouts, focusing on the way his stomach is twisting in annoyance rather than the way his chest is expanding at the way Ron and Malfoy are getting along. Hermione runs her hand along his back, calming him a little and leans forward.

“Harry has a point. Those rules are there for a reason…” She says, looking pointedly at Ron, “Just because you’re a Weasley that doesn’t meant that you have to break the rules for no reason.” She looks at him like this isn’t the first time she’s told him that. Because it isn’t, Harry smiles to himself. She’s been telling them that since they were eleven years old. Harry doubts she’ll ever stop.

“Sure it is,” Ron grins at her, settling his arm around her shoulders, “Anyway, you’re one to talk! Telling us to go into the Restricted section in first year. Making a Polyjuice potion. Putting Rita Skeeter in a jar for a year. Casting a Confundus on McLaggen–”

“Yes… thank you Ronald.” Hermione hisses, nudging him in the ribs. Ron shoots Harry a grin and winks at him before leaning forward and smacking a loud kiss on Hermione’s cheek. Harry smiles at them, sipping at his beer. Ok, so most of school was pretty crap, what with the whole Voldemort thing, but they had had some great times.

“I don’t know about that last one…” Malfoy leans forward, his eyes alight with interest.

“Oh it was great!” Ron lets go of Hermione’s shoulders and leans towards Malfoy, “So it was the Quidditch try outs…” Harry stands up, leaving Ron to tell the story to Malfoy.

\-----

“So you like him?” Hermione says as she walks into the kitchen, clearly bored with Ron telling the McLaggen story again. It’s a surprise that Malfoy hasn’t heard it. It’s practically Ron’s favourite story. McLaggen gets worryingly more lecherous and Ron gets manlier every time Ron tells it. Harry stirs at the Bolognese on the hob, running through all the people Hermione could possibly be talking about. When his brain comes up with a big fat nothing, he frowns at her over his shoulder.

“Who?” he asks. It has to be someone they both know. Who were they just talking about?

“Draco.” She comes and leans against the counter next to the hob, her wine glass still in her hand, a small smirk on her lips. Harry shrugs and points his wand at a pot, filling it with water.

“Sure, when he’s not being an arse. He’s a good mate.” He reaches around her and picks up the pasta. He’s just pulling back when he catches the look she’s giving him. His chest tightens and his palms sweat as he tries to avoid her piercing brown eyes and crooked knowing smile. She’s been giving him that look since Ginny left him. That ‘we need to find you someone’ smirk and sparkle in her eye. He goes back to looking at the pasta, the prickly heat of a blush rising in his neck and cheeks, making his scalp feel uncomfortable.

“No… you LIKE him, like him,” Hermione says, not bothering to keep her voice down.

“What?” Harry moves quickly across the kitchen, shutting the door and turning to glare at her. She thinks he likes Malfoy? Is she crazy? His heart hammers in his chest and his stomach feels too tight as he looks at her smug smile “No I don’t!” he hisses, moving back to where she’s standing looking at him like she’s right.

“Uh huh…” she raises her eyebrows, her jaw sticking out a little as she raises her face to him, looking every bit the defiant war hero that she is, “he likes you too.” Her voice is too light and Harry knows she’s been planning this for a while. He looks at her and takes a deep breath, trying to think about what he could have done, what Malfoy could have done, to make her think that either of them liked the other one.

“You’re mental,” he says, coming to the conclusion that the answer is nothing. She turns and stirs the Bolognese before turning on the hob under the pasta water.

“I’m right.” She doesn’t even need to look at Harry and Harry knows she’s got that annoyingly smug face on.

“Not this time.” He shakes his head, moving next to her to try and pretend that he is doing something to help make their dinner. It’s the same every Wednesday. Harry has some people over and cooks them dinner. Ron and Hermione are always there, and Hermione always ends up taking over, but only with the things she know she won’t mess up, like stirring and serving. Sometimes the house is full, their friends spilling from the living room into the kitchen. Sometimes it’s just the three of them. Usually Malfoy comes along.

“When am I ever wrong?” Hermione mutters, seemingly remembering that the other person that they’re talking about it in the flat. Harry frowns at her.

“Um…” he tries to think. There has to be some point when she was wrong. Sometimes she doesn’t get things as quickly as Ron does, very rarely, but she’s never wrong. Damn her. She glances over at him and chuckles.

“Exactly.”

“Yeah, well, you’re wrong this time. We’re mates. That’s all.” Harry pokes at the pasta as the water around it boils. She’s wrong. He does not like Malfoy. And Malfoy does not like him. Not in that way. They’re friends. Friends who squabble about ridiculous things and who spend a lot of time together, sure. But still just friends.

“Keep telling yourself that. But sooner or later I’ll be walking in on the two of you having sex. And when that day comes I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’.” Hermione glances at him and gives him a big grin, her teeth beautifully straight and white. Harry doesn’t know if her parents know that she uses magic to whiten them, or if they ever knew that she’d shortened them. But they look nice, so maybe they’re not that worried. He rolls his eyes at her and nudges her with his hip.

“If that day ever comes – which it won’t – you can throw yourself a fucking party and I’ll sing Granger is the Queen whilst wearing nothing but a Slytherin tie,” he promises, pretty certain that it’ll never happen.

“That you will get from Draco, who will be your boyfriend,” she sings, looking happy, her eyes shining. Harry rolls his eyes and continues stirring the pasta. She’s so ridiculous. Yeah, so he and Malfoy are somewhat close now. Both of their friendship groups are so merged, and it’s not like she thinks Blaise is suddenly going to go off with Dean or Seamus. Actually, you can’t pry those two off each other. Bad example. Anyway, of course him and Malfoy are close. They work together. Like Ron and George. Although they are actually brothers, so also not a great example. And so what if Malfoy came and lived with Harry for a little bit before he found his own place. It’s not like others in their friendship group haven’t lived together before. Ron and Hermione make an unwelcome appearance in his head and he shakes them out. Fuck it. It’s not going to happen. He doesn’t like Malfoy in that way.

“Never going to happen,” he says, taking out a piece of pasta and testing it. He smiles and Hermione wiggles her eyebrows at him before picking the Bolognese pot up.

“We’ll see…” she sings, moving through to the living room, placemats and plates following her. Harry sighs to himself. Maybe if he ignores her she’ll stop thinking that’s true. Maybe.

\-----

“You look like shit.” Malfoy stares at him from his desk. Harry turns his head, not lifting it from his desk. Malfoy’s brows are drawn low, his grey eyes shining with concern.

“I feel like shit.” His tongue sticks in his mouth, and he can taste that his breath must smell. His head is throbbing, feeling heavy and fuzzy. His throat is sore and his nose is blocked. His whole body feels like it’s been in a fight with a hippogriff. His eyes are sore and he doesn’t know if he can think. Thinking hurts. Thinking is hard. It’s much harder than normal.

“So why are you here?” Malfoy asks, frowning. Harry tries to sit up, his chest itching and hurting as he starts to hack and splutter. He squints through watery eyes, trying to focus on Malfoy waiting for him to finish. He takes a deep breath and reaches over to grab his glass of water. He takes a sip and then looks at his partner.

“Because we’re in the middle of a case…” he croaks and Malfoy raises one eyebrow.

“This case is bullshit and you know it.” Malfoy stares at him, his lips twitching into some sort of weird smile. He has a nice smile normally. Maybe his smile is nice now. Harry really can’t focus. His nose starts to itch and he feels this zing rising up his throat and tickle behind his eyes, managing to grab a tissue just before he sneezes, loudly. Malfoy blinks. “Why are you here?” His voice is soft and Harry tries to frown, but it hurts his head.

“Because if I go off sick then it’s a point to Robards and I’m already five points behind him,” Harry admits. Malfoy chuckles, shaking his head, his cheeks slightly pink. It’s pretty.

“You’re ridiculous. Buy yourself a chair.” Malfoy looks at him, and Harry sits up.

“No!” He shouts, immediately regretting it. There’s a harsh buzz in his ears and everything in his face hurt. Malfoy looks at him for a moment, something flashing in his eyes, before he looks down, shaking his head slightly. Harry watches as his hair shines in the light. It’s actually really pretty. He thinks that he hears Malfoy mutter ‘fucking ridiculous’, except that his ears feel like there’s something stuck in them. Something that feels little like liquid, but also a little like it’s never going to come out of his ears.

Harry rests his head against the desk, enjoying the cold against his skin. How can anyone be this ill? He’d had a Pepper-Up. So why does he still feel so ill? Something dribbles from his nose and he sniffs, rubbing it on the back of his hand.

“Look… will you please go home?” Malfoy snaps, without any real bite. Harry stares at the floor. How had he never noticed how gross the floors are? They’re tiled, because all the floors in the Ministry are, but these are sort of old and dirty. He should Scourgify them. Maybe later.

“No! I can’t let him get another point over me…” Harry moans into the floor.

“And I can’t work with you sitting there sneezing and coughing and potentially making me ill. Go. Home.” Malfoy sounds so serious. Harry looks up at him

“But–”

“Home!” Malfoy shouts and Harry can’t help but laugh. Until it hurts his throat. He nods and stands up, grabbing his coat and walking out of the room. As he gets to the door he turns around and Malfoy smiles at him, a real, nice smile. “I’ll let Robards know that I sent you home and that if anything it should be a point for me because it means I don’t have to suffer any more. Now will you please leave?” Harry grins and walks out of the room.

\-----

He managed to walk through the halls of the Ministry, Floo home and make himself a cup of hot, sweet tea before he realised he’s left his wand in their office. He’d spent a good five minutes banging his head against the kitchen cupboard before stumbling back through the Floo and managed to only see a couple of people before he’d got to their office.

“I’m not coming back to work,” he grumbles as he opens their door, “I just forgot my–”

“Oh fuck, Draco.” Blaise groans, and Harry knows he should leave, but he can’t. He can’t move. He can’t fucking breathe. All he can do is stare. Stare at the way Malfoy’s fingers are digging into the hard flesh of Blaise’s hips. Stare at the sharp, fast slide of Malfoy’s cock between Blaise’s cheeks. Stare at Malfoy’s cock, slick with lube and seemingly long and thick with a slight curve to it. Stare at the way Malfoy’s pale legs, strong and sinewy are planted firmly on the floor, his trousers bunched around his ankles. Stare at the way his chest glistens with sweat.

He doesn’t know if they’ve just not heard him, or if they’re too far gone to care, but they don’t stop. Malfoy continues to pound into Blaise, his perfect arse clenching with each inward thrust. Blaise has one hand gripping the desk and the other arm furiously moving, presumably whilst touching his cock. Harry can’t quite see. Can’t quite focus on anything that isn’t acres of alabaster skin and Malfoy’s fucking perfect cock. Blaise has his eyes clamped shut in pleasure, his mouth hanging open as he makes obscenely filthy sounds. Malfoy’s hair is falling into his face as he looks down at Blaise’s arse, not really looking at Blaise, clearly intently studying the way his cock is moving. It’s the most erotic thing Harry has ever seen.

And then Blaise comes with a shout, his face twisting in pleasure and his body trembling. It must stir something in Malfoy, because he grunts, moving faster, and clearly comes a moment later, his body stiffening as his hips jaggedly thrust. He sags slightly and pats Blaise on the back. Blaise opens his eyes slowly, looking happy and sated. And then his impossibly brown eyes meet Harry’s and he freezes.

“Fuck,” Blaise shouts, seemingly frozen on the spot. Harry doesn’t know what he looks like, but he expects his eyes are very, very wide. He looks at Malfoy, heat prickling all over him, his stomach clenching.

“Indeed.” Malfoy smirks and slides out of Blaise, his release dribbling down Blaise’s thigh. The sight of it sparks something in Harry and he jumps, letting go of the door handle and holding his hands up in defeat.

“Um… I’m so sorry…” he stutters. Blaise stands up and Harry’s eyes are instantly drawn to his softening cock. Oh god. Now he’s made it worse. His head pounds and he feels sick. He moves quickly, grabbing his wand off his desk and absolutely ignoring the two very naked men in his office. Malfoy moves towards him, with something like concern on his face.

“Potter–”

“No… no…” Harry jumps in, so embarrassed he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to talk to Blaise or Malfoy ever again, “I’ll… um… see you later.” He glances at Malfoy as he practically runs out of the door. His face feels like it’s on fire and his mouth is very, very dry.

“Potter, for fucks sake…” Malfoy groans, his eyebrows drawn low is worry, and Harry shakes his head, slipping from the room.

\-----

He stumbles out of the Floo, the soot getting in his throat and going up his nose, and makes his way quickly through to his bedroom, shedding his clothes as he goes. He needs to be in bed. That’s it. He needs sleep. He needs to collapse into a coma and wake up in twenty years when the embarrassment of walking in on Malfoy and Blaise is over. Walking in on Malfoy pounding into Blaise, his cock thick and glistening with lube. Fuck, he has a beautiful cock. And Blaise had certainly looked pleased with it. More than pleased. Apparently Malfoy’s reputation is completely justified. Harry’s cock gives an interested twitch at the thought and he groans, sliding into bed.

Sleep. He needs to sleep. He needs to not think about how Malfoy’s cock would fill him, stretch him deliciously, curving just right so that if Harry was on his back it would stroke against his prostate. His cock starts to harden and he buries his head into his pillow, his eyes clenched tight. No. Not thinking about that. Not thinking about Malfoy pressing into him, the beautiful burn that comes from that first intrusion. Not imaging the way Malfoy’s hands would run over his legs before holding onto them tightly as he pounds into Harry. Nope.

Absolutely not thinking about Malfoy’s chest, glistening in the low light of their office. Fuck, he must have been putting a lot of effort in to be that fucking sweaty. Harry likes a man who puts effort in. But not Malfoy. Not Malfoy with his broad shoulders and toned abs and defined pecs. Not Malfoy with his perfectly porcelain skin and small pink nipples standing hard. A hot flush runs through him and his cock aches at the thought of Malfoy, naked, pounding into him.

He clenches his eyes tighter as images start to fill his head. He coughs, heat spreading over him but he can’t move. If he moves then his cock will rub against the sheets and he doesn’t think he’s in the right frame of mind to stop himself from having a wank. He absolutely cannot have a wank over his partner. He shouldn’t be thinking about him. He shouldn’t be thinking about those long, elegant fingers and how they would feel opening Harry up, stroking into him as he writhes on the bed.

Ok, fine. Maybe he’s going to think about it. But he’s absolutely not going to wank over the thought. Sleep, that’s what he needs. His head pounds and his nose itches and he feels like something is pressing on his eyes. He is absolutely too ill to be thinking of Malfoy fucking Blaise. Or him. Or anyone. He needs to sleep. And maybe have something to drink. Water. He needs water.

He points his wand at the empty glass next to him and casts a sloppy Aguamenti. Water sloshes around the glass and he can’t be bothered to clean it up. He gulps down the water and lies back on the bed. His head still feels fuzzy and his arms are too heavy, but at least his throat doesn’t hurt any more. Yes. This is better. Much better.

He closes his eyes and tries to think of nothing. His cock aches and his body aches and everything fucking aches. But at least he’s thinking of nothing, so hopefully his erection will go away on its own. Yup. He’s lying there thinking of nothing. Nothingness. Absolutely not thinking about the way Malfoy sometimes winks at him, and how it sends a jolt of desire running through him. Not thinking about how Malfoy laughs, his whole body shaking, his hair falling into his eyes sexily.

Fuck.

He needs a Dreamless Sleep. He hates taking potions, really hates it, but he has to. He has to go to sleep, and he can’t if he has these images in his head. There’s nothing for it. He sits up and grabs his wand, Accioing a bottle of Dreamless Sleep. It flies into his hand and he just about catches it. Chucking his wand on the bedside table, he unstoppers the bottle and downs the whole lot. Hopefully he hasn’t accidentally overdosed or something. He lies back and closes his eyes, the potion running through him in a wave of calm coolness. This is better. This is much better.

He falls asleep with images of a naked smiling Malfoy in his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

“Knock, knock.” Harry looks up from where he’s curled in a ball on the bed to see Draco Malfoy leaning against his doorframe. His long legs are crossed, one delicate foot over the other, his legs looking long in smart grey trousers. He’s wearing a tight black jumper that looks like it’s made of cashmere, and clings to every muscle in his body. Muscles that Harry hadn’t really noticed before. Before he’d walked in on Malfoy fucking Blaise, his body slick with sweat and shimmering in the light. Prickly heat travels up Harry’s neck.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, not quite able to meet Malfoy’s eyes. Malfoy raises one eyebrow and walks into the room. Harry ignores his stomach clenching at the way Malfoy’s hair falls in his eyes. He’s never noticed Malfoy’s hair before. Not really. Obviously he’s noticed the colour, noticed that it’s so blond it’s almost white, and he’s noticed how Malfoy keeps it cut close at the sides, but longer on top, as opposite from his father as he can get it. But Harry has never noticed the way it falls into his eyes. Or the way it’s darker at the roots, almost a golden colour. Harry frowns to himself, trying to shake the thought from his mind.

“I brought you soup you ungrateful prick.” Malfoy sits down on the bed, shoving at Harry’s legs. Harry only then notices that Malfoy has a bowl in his hands, obviously under a Statis charm. Harry frowns at him, his nose feeling too full and his head throbbing.

“Why?” His brain is too fuzzy to really understand. Malfoy rolls his eyes, waving his wand over the bowl and holding it out to Harry. Harry shuffles so that he’s sitting up and takes it. It’s chicken soup. He likes chicken soup. He wonders for a moment if Malfoy made it, or if he got someone else to make it for him. Or for Harry. Malfoy picks a clean tissue from the box next to Harry and transfigures it into a spoon.

“Because you are ill,” he states and Harry stares at him. No. That’s not it.

“But why did you bring me soup?” Harry asks again. He takes a mouthful of the soup and stares at Malfoy. The soup is perfect, not too hot and thick and creamy with big chunks of chicken. There is no way Malfoy made it. Malfoy is only good at a very limited amount of things. Work, for one. Sex for another. Clearly. Harry’s cock twitches at the memory and his neck tingles. It’s a good thing he’s already hot, because thinking about Malfoy fucking Blaise definitely makes him hot.

“Because we’re friends,” Malfoy says, his voice too clipped to be real, “And because you are my partner and I need you to be well so that I don’t have to do all these fucking ridiculous cases on my own.” Harry frowns at him, taking another mouthful and watching Malfoy. Malfoy’s eyes flicker, the grey almost swirling and images fill Harry’s mind. Malfoy’s eyes focused on Blaise, so blown with lust they’re almost black. Malfoy’s bottom lip caught in his teeth. Malfoy’s elegant fingers digging into Blaise’s hips. He chokes on his soup and Malfoy passes him a glass of water. He takes a gulp, his eyes water and then hands the glass back, taking another mouthful.

“Malfoy, why did you bring me soup?” he asks around a lump of chicken.

“Oh, for fucks sake. I brought you soup to apologise for shagging Blaise in our office,” Malfoy snaps, his cheeks going a pretty pink colour. Like when he was fucking Blaise. Harry frowns, swallowing his mouthful and looking down at his soup. He doesn’t know what to say, so he stirs. All he can think of is Malfoy’s perfect cock, sliding in and out of Blaise. He coughs, the feeling tickling the back of his throat.

“I didn’t realise you and Blaise were–”

“We’re not. He came by to drop off an invite for his mother’s latest wedding and I hadn’t had a good fuck in a while.” Malfoy sounds so nonchalant. Harry looks up at him and frowns. Trust Malfoy to make it sound so… so… so much like nothing. But it’s all Harry can think about. All he can focus on that isn’t fever induced sweating and a blocked nose and sore throat.

“And he just…?” Harry looks back down at his bowl, stirring the soup around and around.

“Potter, you know as well as I do that Blaise is always up for something.” Malfoy’s voice is soft, sort of coaxing and Harry glances at him through his eyelashes. Malfoy’s eyes are trained on him, the blush that was in his cheeks almost gone, and a small smile playing on his lips. His sinfully perfect cupid bow lips.

“Yeah…” Harry sighs. He takes a deep breath and sits up straight. All he has to do is talk to Malfoy and not think about how he had Blaise bent over his desk. He can do that. He gives Malfoy a grin and takes another mouthful of soup. “So…”

“So,” Malfoy says, his voice slightly deeper than normal, his eyes still stuck on Harry. Harry ignores the heat at the back of his neck. The heat that is probably his fever, and nothing to do with Malfoy and his beautiful eyes and sexy smile and… no. Not thinking about that.

“How’s the case going?” He asks. He slurps his soup, his eyes stuck on Malfoy’s they really are lovely. All grey and swirling. Something crackles in the air, probably just because he’s ill, and then Malfoy’s lips twitch into a grin.

“Finished. I’ve been assigned paperwork until you get back. So hurry up and get well so you can come back.” Malfoy rolls his eyes and leans back on the bed, his hand brushing against Harry’s ankle. Harry ignores the way his stomach clenches. Maybe he shouldn’t eat the soup. He hasn’t thrown up yet, but it’s clearly just a matter of time.

“You know the second I’m back we’re just going to be given the worst case…” he says, watching Malfoy. His brain is fuzzy and his nose hurts and he can’t figure out what’s going on. Because it really feels like something is going on.

“Yes. Well… it’s better than sitting on my own in our office filling in other people’s paperwork.” Malfoy looks down at his crossed knees, the pale column of his neck looking beautiful. Harry wants to lean over and bite it. Or maybe just snuffle into it as Malfoy holds him and rocks him to sleep. No. He’s not thinking about it. He chuckles a little, ignoring the way his chest itches and throat stings.

“Aww, Malfoy, do you miss me?” he teases. Malfoy looks up, gazing at him through his fringe. A lump forms in Harry’s throat and his body feels tingly. Malfoy’s eyelashes are the same gold as his hair. He smiles and shakes his head.

“Eat your soup.”

\-----

“Can you sign this so we can get the Portkey for this afternoon?” Malfoy mutters. His hair is falling into his face, his long fingers bent slightly as he grips his quill, his grey eyes focused on the paper in front of him. Harry can’t stop staring. He has the same intense look he had on his face when he was fucking Blaise. It’s fucking gorgeous. Malfoy frown at him and Harry realises he hasn’t replied to Malfoy’s question.

“Um… sure…” he stutters, his neck prickling with embarrassment. He looks around the room, tapping the end of his Muggle pen on the desk. A small cough makes him glance over to when Malfoy is holding out the form, one eyebrow raised and a smirk twitching on the corner of his lips. Harry jumps and takes the paper from Malfoy’s hand, trying not to think about how those hands had been gripping Blaise’s hip. Not something to think about. Definitely also shouldn’t be thinking about how they would feel on his hips.

“Thanks.” Harry can hear the amusement in Malfoy’s voice. He glances over to his partner, his stomach swooping at the gleam in Malfoy’s eye.

“Yeah… uh… you’re welcome…” He scrawls his signature on the form and folds it, sending it fluttering out of their office.

“Ok.” A soft thud draws Harry’s attention. Malfoy is stretched out in his chair, his feet up on his desk, and his arms crooked behind his head. He’s wearing his ridiculously fitted grey trousers and his robes are open, showing off his tight, crisp white shirt. He looks sinfully good and Harry’s whole body feels like it’s too full. His jeans are becoming uncomfortably tight in the groin region and he can’t seem to blink. Malfoy smirks and Harry clenches his fist as he stops breathing entirely. Fucking Malfoy with his gorgeous fucking smile. Malfoy’s eyes scan Harry’s face before he speaks again, “Do you want to get some lunch whilst we wait? Or do you want to start compiling the list of all three suspects?”

“Um… I don’t mind…” Harry croaks out. Malfoy doesn’t say anything for a moment, but thoughts are clearly fluttering through his mind.

“Ok…” his feet move from off his desk and Harry can breathe again, “Lunch it is. Come on Potter, grab your coat.” He stands up and takes his robes off, picking up a short pea-coat from the back of his chair. He gives Harry a look and Harry realises he’s just sitting at his desk, not really able to move.

“Right… coat… uh–” he stands up, glancing around the room, but not really seeing anything except Malfoy.

“Ok, what is wrong, Potter? Are you still sick? Do you need more time off?” Malfoy stands in front of him, too warm and smelling too good and Harry jumps back.

“No! No, I’m fine, I just–”

“Alright, so can you stop being weirder than normal?” Malfoy smiles at him, one eyebrow raised, as he picks up Harry’s coat and chucks it to him. Harry catches it with one hand and takes a deep breath.

“Right…” he nods, slipping his coat on. Malfoy chuckles and strides out of the room, all elegant and beautiful. Harry stares after him for a moment, trying to regain his composure. It’s just Malfoy. It’s just Malfoy. His work partner. His undeniably sexy work partner. There’s absolutely nothing for him to be panicking about.

“Hurry up, Potter, lunch.” Malfoy’s voice floats into the room as he shouts for Harry and Harry takes a deep breath, following him, knowing that this problem isn’t going to go away anytime soon.

\-----

“Another?” Malfoy offers, glancing around the group. Harry thinks he nods, but his eyes are stuck on the way Malfoy’s trousers hug his thighs. Malfoy grins at him, making his cock twitch in his pants, before turning and weaving his way through the crowd to get to the bar. Harry tries to look away, tries to move his head, but his muscles feel stiff and his mouth is dry and he just can’t. Malfoy gets to the bar and leans across to talk to the bartender, his back arched, his beautiful arse curved and thrusting out.

Harry shuffles in his chair as his cock grows, trying to re-adjust without making it obvious. He’s sitting next to Hermione with her ridiculously observant, uh, eyes. He rolls his eyes at himself, annoyed at how fuzzy his head feels, and how slow he seems to be able to move his limbs. He’s horny, for fucks sake, not ill. Horny and absolutely not going to do anything about it, because oh my god, that would be super inappropriate.

“What are you looking at?” A voice next to him makes him jump and he turns to look at Hermione. Her eyes are sparkling and her mouth is stretched into a wide grin. Oh, shit.

“What? Nothing! I… uh…” Harry stutters, shifting in his seat and crossing his legs. It’ll be so awkward if she glances down. His eyes move back to the bar. Malfoy is laughing up at the bartender, looking through his hair, his eyes sparkling. His legs are crossed at the ankles, and his trousers are tight across his arse. His beautiful, curved, arse. Harry wants to bite into that arse, maybe dig his fingers into it as Malfoy’s hips snap as he pounds into Harry’s hole.

“He does have a fantastic bum,” Hermione says and Harry straightens. No.

“I wasn’t looking at Malfoy’s bum!” his voice feels a little too loud and he glances back at Malfoy. To check that he hasn’t heard. Not to look at his bum again. Malfoy isn’t looking at him, but he has turned so that his hips are facing them. There’s a definite bulge in his trousers. Although there may always be a bulge. Maybe Harry has just never noticed the bulge. Fuck.

“Who said I was talking about Malfoy?” Hermione leans over and places her hand on Harry’s arm, looking ridiculously pleased with herself. Harry opens his mouth, but nothing comes out and she leans back, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You… you are a very tricksy woman,” Harry says, forcing himself to turn away from Malfoy. No, not forcing himself. Just looking away.

“Obviously,” Hermione laughs, “So you’re not staring at his arse?”

“No!” Harry shouts and Hermione raises an eyebrow.

“Sure.”

“I’m not!” he shouts, absolutely not looking over to where Malfoy is now writing something on the bartender’s hand. Probably going to get laid tonight. Maybe he’ll be pounding into the bartender with that perfect cock. Harry’s chest twists and his cock twitches. Nope, not thinking about that.

“Carry on saying that,” Hermione says, picking up her wine, “but sooner or later I’m going to be throwing myself that party.” She downs her wine and gives him a wink before she slides out of her chair and makes her way over to the bar, where Harry is definitely not staring at Malfoy.

\-----

Harry is so hard it hurts. Physically hurts. A deep, painful ache. It would help if he didn’t know exactly why he has a raging boner. If he didn’t know then he could just have a peaceful wank and not feel guilty about it afterwards.

But he does know.

He knows exactly why he’s currently lying on his back in his bed, his hands clenched so tightly in his sheets that he thinks he can feel the fabric rip. Fuck it. He can buy new sheets. Or fix these ones. He is absolutely not going to wank over Draco fucking Malfoy. He is absolutely not going to think about the way he leant against the bar as he was ordering drinks, his legs long and elegant, his arse jutting out, round and perfect in his fucking trousers. He absolutely was not going to remember the way his strong, slender fingers has trailed up and down the arm of the bartender, and he absolutely was not going to imagine how they would feel crooked inside him. He was absolutely not going to think about he’d then turned to Harry and winked. He was absolutely…

Oh, fuck it.

Harry drags his pyjama bottoms down, his cock springing free, the feel of the fabric sliding against him almost enough to push him over the edge. His hand is on his cock in seconds, his fist wrapped tightly around the shaft as he moves in quick, sharp tugs. Usually he has a bit more finesse than this. Usually he starts with long, drawn out strokes with a slight twist at the end before moving on to the frantic pumping. Usually he’d treat himself to a little bit of ball fondling before slowly stroking between his arse cheeks.

But this isn’t usually. Images of Malfoy flash in his mind. Malfoy lean and long, his porcelain skin shimmering with sweat. Malfoy’s fingers pressed into soft flesh as he snapped his hips. The filthy slap of skin on skin as he thrust. His cock, his fucking perfect cock, shining with lube. Harry’s toes begin to tingle, the feeling running through his legs and settling in his stomach.

Wordlessly he reaches out, the bottle of lube flying towards him and he lets go of his cock to squirt some on his fingers. Fingers that are too short, too thick. He moves his hand back as he reaches around, circling his hole before pushing one finger in. His eyes clench closed and he thinks of Malfoy, imagining Malfoy’s fingers pressing into him, opening him up. He has fucking magical fingers.

Harry adds a second and then a third, the slight burn of the intrusion making heat flare in Harry’s chest and his balls start to tighten. Malfoy’s smile, open and honest. Malfoy’s eyes with the wicked glint in them the moment before he said something cutting. Malfoy’s fingers, nimble and fucking perfect.

Harry starts fucking himself in earnest, his hips snapping forward as he shoves his cock into his fist. Each thrust back drives his fingers in further until they are brushing his prostate. Malfoy’s voice, deep and cracked with lust. Malfoy’s tongue, pink and teasing. Malfoy fucking him over his desk. Malfoy fucking him in his bed. Malfoy fucking him.

He comes with Malfoy’s name on his lips, his release spilling over his stomach in hot white streaks.

\-----

It’s so fucking awkward. Harry can’t even look at Malfoy without remembering his… activities from the night before. He really shouldn’t have done that. It was so unprofessional. His cock twitches as he remembers the way Harry had stroked it, images of what Malfoy could do to him running through his mind. He grits his teeth and tries to think of something, anything, to make his cock stop growing. It almost works until Malfoy interrupts his thoughts.

“Can you please come here and help me?” Malfoy drawls and Harry blinks at him from across the room.

“What?” he asks, trying to figure out what Malfoy is talking about. He can’t possibly be talking about the same thing that Harry is thinking about. There’s no way he could know what Harry…. Oh fuck, he really shouldn’t have wanked last night to the thought of Malfoy. His skin prickles and he feel too hot in his heavy Auror robes. Have they always been this hot?

“Seriously? What is with you today, Potter?” Malfoy’s annoyed voice cuts through the haze and Harry blinks at him. Shit.

“Nothing! Nothing is with me! I… uh…” Harry stutters. Isn’t Malfoy a Legilimens? Fuck. Harry really should have practiced his Occlumency. Or he should just not be thinking about Malfoy in that way at all. He definitely shouldn’t be thinking about how it would feel to have Malfoy’s perfect cock pressing into him, stretching him open and…

“As stimulating as this is I actually need you to come over here and help me.” Malfoy raises an eyebrow at him and Harry jumps. Fuck. At work. Should not be thinking about sex during work hours. Especially shouldn’t be thinking about Malfoy.

“Right… yes…” he moves across the room and crouches down next to Malfoy. He takes his wand out from his arm holster and levitates the spinning top. He recognises it from George and Ron’s shop. The ever-spinning top. Not a good thing to be found in the middle of a Muggle toy shop. He feels the top knock against his magic, almost spinning free from the Wingardium Leviosa, and he grits his teeth. Malfoy opens the box he’s been charming and Harry moves the top into it, the tingle of Malfoy’s magic against his skin sending a wave of pleasure through him. No. Not a wave of pleasure. Nope. Not thinking about Malfoy and pleasure in the same sentence at work. Or anywhere.

“Thank you, Potter,” Malfoy whispers and Harry looks over at him. Malfoy’s face is so close to Harry’s that Harry can see a small dark freckle on his lip. He wants to reach out and lick it. Fuck. No he doesn’t!

“Um… yeah… no problem,” he coughs, standing up and moving away from where Malfoy is still low on the floor. Putting the box into a satchel at his side, Malfoy stands up and walks over to Harry, putting a gentle hand on Harry’s arm. Harry holds back the wince. Fuck, if Malfoy can’t touch him on a very clothes arm without his cock responding he really is in trouble.

“Ok, what’s wrong?” Malfoy asks, one eyebrow raised and Harry’s eyes widen.

“Nothing!” he shouts, slipping away from Malfoy’s grip and trying to subtly rearrange himself, really hoping that Malfoy hasn’t noticed. Malfoy laughs and Harry turns around, panic making his throat tight and his stomach flip.

“Bullshit,” Malfoy’s eyes shine and Harry knows he hasn’t seen, thank fuck, “You’ve been acting weird all day. What happened last night after the pub? I thought you went home alone?” Malfoy wanders around to the edge of the room, picking up a Muggle toy and looking at it. His long fingers caress the wood and Harry tries to swallow.

“I did…” he croaks and Malfoy looks at him, smirking.

“Right… maybe you shouldn’t have. When was the last time you got laid?” He puts the toy down and turns back to Harry, crossing his arms over his chest and looking 100% too smug for this conversation. Harry frowns at him, trying to make himself look more serious than he feels.

“Malfoy, I am not talking about this at work,” he says, copying Malfoy’s stance.

“Because there’s so many people here to hear?” Malfoy laughs, gesturing around the completely empty room. The owners have been moved into their office to be Obliviated and the customers have been sent on their way.

“Malfoy…” Harry growls, his chest doing something funny and Malfoy holds his hands up, that infuriating smile still stuck on his face.

“Fine! But there’s something wrong,” he points at Harry, a knowing look on his face, “And if you don’t tell me, Hermione will have it out of you by lunchtime.”

Harry groans as he spins on the spot, Apparating back to the Ministry.

\-----

“Harry! Focus!” Ron shouts at him from his spot in front of the hoops and Harry drags himself back to the game. He’s sat on his broom, the wind rushing around him and his hands slowly going cold. He looks at the game happening below him.

Ginny and Charlie are passing the quaffle between them as Angelina chases them on her broom. George is flying around like a mad man, whacking the bludger at Angelina and Pansy, Theo ducking in to smash it back to George. Maybe playing Weasleys versus everyone else wasn’t a great idea. Especially as they’d insisted that Harry was a Weasley and could play seeker for them. Which would be fine, if it wasn’t for Malfoy. The annoying wanker is currently circling the pitch, one eye on Harry and the other looking for the snitch.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Malfoy didn’t look so fucking good. He’s wearing jeans and a hoodie, which are clothes that he usually wouldn’t even consider wearing. When Ron had suggested an impromptu game Harry had had to lend Malfoy some more suitable Quidditch attire than his normal perfectly tailored suit. Somehow, knowing that Malfoy is wearing his clothes is making flying just that little bit more difficult.

His blond hair is shining in the late afternoon sun, making him look like an angel. A pointy, slender angel with broad shoulders and long fingers and a perfect fucking cock. Not that Harry can see the cock now, but it’s ingrained in his brain enough that he sees it every time he closes his eyes. Malfoy’s cheeks are flushed red, and his eyes sparkle, and he just looks gorgeous. Unfairly gorgeous. Ron shouts him again and he jumps, nearly falling off his broom, before turning to scowl at his best friend. Ron flips him the finger and then saves a goal. 

“What’s wrong, Potter? Losing your edge?” Malfoy grins as he flies up next to Harry. Harry’s head feels too full of air as he looks at the infuriating blond.

“Fuck off, Malfoy!” he growls, hoping he sounds pissed off, but suspecting he sounds breathy.

“Language,” Malfoy raises one eyebrow and comes to a stop, so close his foot is nearly touching Harry’s, “Scared, Potter?”

“You wish,” Harry grins at him, ignoring the tug in his stomach, the way his heart pounds, the fact that his trousers are getting a little tighter, “In fact, why don’t we make it a little more interesting?”

“What are you thinking?” Malfoy’s lips twitch at the corner. Harry shrugs and tries to think about what he wants from Malfoy. No! Not what he wants. Fuck. His cock starts to ache where it’s pressed against the wood of his broom and his hands feel horribly sweaty. He realises Malfoy is still staring at him expectantly and he tries to grin.

“Loser buys the other one dinner?” he offers. Malfoy’s shoulders slump slightly before he lets out a huff and smiles at Harry.

“Loser buys the other one dinner and the winner gets to choose where,” Malfoy replies, clearly not bothered any more.

“Deal,” Harry nods, holding out his hand. Malfoy wraps his long fingers around Harry’s hand and gives one firm shake. Glancing at something over Harry’s shoulder he drags him nearer, his heat washing over Harry and making the world swirl. Harry closes his eyes as Malfoy brings his mouth close to Harry’s ear.

“Bring it on, Potter,” he whispers before vanishing with a swoosh. Harry opens his eyes, blinking into the sun, before he realises Malfoy is on the tail of the snitch. Bending low, he thanks the universe for his broom, and speeds after Malfoy, his heart pounding and unable to stop the grin from stretching across his face.

\-----

“So where are you going on this date then?” Ron asks as he lounges over the sofa at the Burrow, a bottle of beer hanging from his hand. The room is warm and cosy, and Harry feels more at home here than anywhere else in the world. They’re sprawled out on various surfaces. Most of them haven’t even been bothered to change. Ron still has a streak of mud on his cheek and Ginny’s hair is wild around her face as she sleeps, curled in a ball in an armchair.

“It’s not a date,” Harry spits through gritted teeth, glaring at Ron. Hermione snorts, settling closer to her smelly, dirty boyfriend, seemingly not worried about it. Harry doesn’t even want to look at Malfoy next to him, his long legs stretched out and his head resting on the back of the sofa. He doesn’t want to, but he can’t seem to stop himself.

“Obviously,” Malfoy rolls his eyes, his mouth firmly stuck in a wide grin, “I don’t think I’d ever be that desperate.” He turns and gives Harry a small wink and Harry ignores the flutter in his chest and the clench in his stomach.

“I dunno,” Ron shrugs, looking between the two of them, “I reckon you two wouldn’t look too bad together. You’ve both got that tall, classically handsome thing going on.” Harry frowns, irritation prickling at the back of his head.

“Why, Weasley, I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” Malfoy chuckles, taking a swig of his beer.

“I’m straight, Malfoy, not blind,” Ron returns, wiggling his eyebrows and Harry feels his stomach churn horribly. No. Ron doesn’t flirt with Malfoy. He’s got Hermione he doesn’t get Malfoy as well. Fuck. Harry’s eyebrows rise involuntarily as the thought circles around his head and he shakes it out. Not a good thought to have. He focus on the annoyance making his spine ache and frowns at his best friend.

“We would not look good together,” he grumbles, sinking lower into the sofa. Malfoy laughs, a warm, throaty laugh that seems to rumble in his chest before bursting from his lips. His eyes shine and his blond hair surrounds his head like a halo. He seems so relaxed and happy here. In the middle of a Weasley house, surrounded by Gryffindors and the occasional Slytherin.

“Touchy, Potter. Careful, or you’ll start to hurt my feelings.” He smirks at Harry, before pressing the bottle to his perfect lips. Harry ignores the way his cock twitches with interest at the sight.

“Doubtful,” he grumbles instead before drinking from his own bottle. Stupid Malfoy with his stupidly sinful mouth and his stupidly beautiful eyes and his stupidly sexy hair. Harry didn’t even realise he found blond hair sexy. He hadn’t really thought about hair at all. Cho had dark hair, and Ginny obviously had flame red hair. Blaise had almost no hair, but what he did have was black and the few Muggle men he’d slept with seemed to range from brunet to sandy blond. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe hair wasn’t sexy unless it was so blond it looked like snow.

They sit in silence for a moment, the soft tick of the grandfather clock adding to the heavy, close air in the room. Ginny snuffles on her chair and Pansy smiles with her eyes closed, her hand reaching out to stroke Ginny’s leg. Theo’s head is on her lap and Blaise, George and Angelina are tangled together on another sofa. All of them, sitting in companionable silence, so close they can literally curl up together. Harry’s chest tightens at the sight. This is why they fought the war. For moments like this.

“So where are you two going?” Theo asks, ruining it. Harry frowns at him, but his eyes are closed and he doesn’t notice.

“I’m thinking Diligo,” Malfoy muses, sounding too smug, and Harry balks. Diligo is the newest restaurant to open on Diagon. It’s small and intimate, with lots of booths around the edge and small round tables down the centre decorated like the table in Lady and the Tramp. It’s not that Harry doesn’t like Italian food. He loves Italian food. And apparently Diligo has an Italian chef using family recipes, serving the best Italian food in wizarding Britain

“How very romantic of you,” Hermione grins, her eyes boring into Harry. He glares at her and starts to shake his head.

“Indeed,” Malfoy drawls, staring at Harry, his eyes flickering and dark. He runs his fingers along his bottle, stroking it in the way that Harry has imagined he’d stroke Harry’s cock. Harry shakes his head more vigorously.

“Not a chance, Malfoy! I’m not–”

“That’s what the deal is, Potter. I caught the snitch so you buy me dinner at a restaurant that I choose.” Malfoy’s lips quirk into a cruel grin and Harry’s stomach twirls, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his fingertips. Malfoy watches his for a moment before nodding once to himself and turning to laugh with the others, “I think Diligo is the perfect place.”

\-----

Harry wants to fuck Malfoy. It’s official. He can’t stop staring at Malfoy, his cock hard in his pants, feeling too hot in just a t-shirt and jeans. Malfoy is at the bar, leering at the young brunet in front of him. His hair is brushed back, the top two buttons of his shirt undone revealing the delicious vee at the base of his neck, his trousers tight against his lean thighs. He looks gorgeous, relaxed and confident. And Harry wants to fuck him.

The problem is that Malfoy spent the entire dinner at Diligo with his buttons undone, his foot casually stroking against Harry’s leg, his swirling grey eyes trained on Harry. By the time they ordered dinner Harry had a raging hard on, and by the time they had finished eating Harry was close to coming in his pants like a teenager. Malfoy smelt fucking amazing, like vanilla soap and warmth. And when he’d suggested coming for a drink afterwards Harry had jumped at the chance – he needed alcohol. Because the other option was sex and he had a feeling that no one would be able to fuck him like Malfoy could, and there was no way they could have sex without it being weird at work.

And now here he is, nursing a beer and staring at Malfoy, so turned on he feels faint. Maybe he should just bite the bullet and find someone to fuck him tonight. Malfoy was clearly going to run off with someone and put his talents to good use. He’s probably going to be fucking the young brunet into the mattress in less than an hour. The thought gnaws at Harry’s stomach and he clutches his glass.

Harry takes a deep breath and swallows a mouthful of his lukewarm beer. He knows, logically, that it would be a terrible idea to have sex with Malfoy. Of course it is. He’s just having a hard time remembering why. They get along, they’re friends, and they’re both completely comfortable with casual sex. Fuck, Harry is still mates with Blaise, even after their slightly less than drunk night. And Malfoy is clearly still friends with Blaise after whatever happened in the office.

So why not Harry? Why can’t they have casual, friendly sex? Malfoy laughs with his companion, his eyes sliding over to Harry for a second. He raises one eyebrow and tilts his head in question and Harry can’t help the bubble of excitement in his chest. He gives Malfoy a big grin and gestures to the man with his head. Malfoy rolls his eyes and smirks, before turning back to the man, bending forwards and whispering in his ear.

Malfoy moves away from the young man and saunters over to Harry, his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t look like he’s about to leave, but then Malfoy never looks like he’s about to do anything. Harry’s cock twitches at the lazy way that Malfoy moves, his body so relaxed it’s fluid. Malfoy reaches the table and plucks Harry’s beer out of his hand, downing it, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drinks.

“How you doing?” Harry asks with a smile that should have been a smirk but potentially looked simmering.

“Excellent,” Malfoy grins, before sliding into the chair next to Harry. His long legs stretch out and his toe brushes against Harry’s ankle.

“Not leaving with…?” Harry points at the young man who is now talking to another tall blond. Malfoy gazes at Harry, his eyes twitching over Harry’s face, his mouth quirked to the side. Shivers run over Harry’s skin and he can’t move, his limbs are too heavy and his head is fuzzy.

“Nah.” Malfoy leans forward, gesturing at the bartender. He turns back to Harry, giving him a smile, his eyes intense and Harry’s chest tightens. “I think I’ll stay here.”

\-----

“Hello, Harry!” Andy calls as he steps into her kitchen. He grins and walks over to where she’s washing the dishes, bending to drop a soft kiss on her forehead. She leans into him for a moment before going back to washing up. She smells like lavender, and he closes his eyes and lets it wash over him. He loves coming here, Andy being the aunt he wish he’d had.

“Hi, Andy. How are you?” He asks pulling away to dry the dishes stacking up on the draining board.

“I’m good,” she smiles, “Teddy is outside with Draco. You might want to go and relieve him. Teddy hasn’t stopped talking about dragons since Charlie came over last week.” She rolls her eyes affectionately and Harry laughs, putting down the tea towel. Charlie had only been back for a fortnight, but somehow he’d managed to make the rounds, including bringing Teddy a soft toy dragon that actually breathes puffs of smoke. It’s almost like Charlie doesn’t visit at least four times every year.

“Well, Charlie does have that effect on all of us,” he grins and Andy purses her lips, the closest to looking like a Black that she ever will.

“Hmm… I’m sure…” she says, her voice full of warmth and Harry chuckles as he moves through the kitchen and out of the back door. Teddy is sitting on a blanket, surrounded by pieces of paper with dragons drawn on them, his stuffed dragon curled asleep next to him. His tongue is sticking out in concentration as he scrawls on the paper. And sitting on the edge of the blanket, long legs stretched out in front of him, is Malfoy. Malfoy’s hair gleams in the sun and he has a pad in his lap, one hand carefully sweeping over it as he draws.

“Hey Ted,” Harry calls as he gets closer. Teddy looks up excitedly, his drawing lying abandoned next to him. Harry grins, before glancing over at Malfoy. Malfoy’s eyes are on him, sparkling grey, his lips twitching at the corner. He closes the pad and slides it off his lap onto the rug next to him.

“Hello Harry…” Teddy says, bouncing a little, “did you know that Charlie has a pet dragon called Norberta? He said to ask you about her?”

“I did know that…” Harry stutters as he tries to find somewhere to sit on the blanket covered with paper. Malfoy smirks, clearing a place next to him. Harry feels the heat prickle the back of his neck, his stomach twisting, as he flops down next to Malfoy. “Uh… you know who’s really good at telling that story? Hermione…”

“No! I want you to tell me!” Teddy rushes, jumping over his drawing to settle in Harry’s lap, his dragon soft toy clenched in his arms. Harry looks down at him, stroking his currently blond hair away from his forehead. He sighs, wrapping his arms around Teddy, basking in the heat of the little boy pressed against his chest and feeling dizzy with love. “Harry…” Teddy prompts and Harry groans

“Uh…”

“Harry, Ron and Hermione were very naughty when they were at school,” Malfoy jumps in, his grey eyes sparkling as he smiles at Harry. Harry doesn’t notice at first, he’s too busy looking at Teddy and trying to figure out a way of making the Norberta story much less interesting. But then he looks up and catches Malfoy’s eye. And then Harry stops breathing. Malfoy really does have the most beautiful smile. It makes him all soft at the edges, like every part of his body is reacting to it. It does very unfortunate things to parts of Harry’s body. Like his chest and stomach.

“How naughty?” Teddy asks, wriggling from Harry’s embrace to slide between the two of them. Harry knows he should be looking at Teddy, but he can’t. His eyes are stuck on Malfoy’s, his heart beating so hard he can feel it in the tips of his ears.

“Oh, very. Very, very naughty.” Malfoy’s voice is low and Harry is suddenly very glad he doesn’t have a wriggling Teddy in his lap. That would have been highly inappropriate.

“We weren’t that bad!” he exclaims, shifting so that his problem isn’t evident. His foot presses against Malfoy’s and he tries to ignore the way his stomach flutters. Malfoy, raises an eyebrow and Harry laughs, “We weren’t!”

“And one of the things they liked doing was sneaking around Hogwarts when they should have been asleep.” Malfoy continues, looking down at Teddy. Teddy’s eyes widen, his grip on his dragon tightening as he looks between Harry and Malfoy. Harry takes a deep breath, almost choking on air as he feels Malfoy’s foot rub against his. Teddy looks up at him expectantly and he nods, trying to get his head around telling the story.

“You see, Hagrid had… uh… well, someone had given him a dragon egg, and he’d managed to hatch it–”

“Really?” Teddy squeals.

“Oh yes,” Malfoy smirks, his eyes running over Harry. Harry shifts, his foot pressing harder against Malfoy’s.

“You were there too, Draco?” Teddy turns his big eyes on Malfoy, and Malfoy looks down at him, opening his mouth to continue the story.

“Yup. Draco also was a very bad boy,” Harry says before he can say anything, watching as Malfoy’s eyes darken, his jaw twitching. Malfoy stares at him for a moment, sending a shiver through Harry, his mouth suddenly dry and his head light. Shooting Harry a sly grin, Malfoy turns back to his overexcited cousin.

“And because I was trying not to be a bad boy I was going to tell our teachers about the dragon–”

“Because it’s very dangerous to keep a dragon as a pet. Charlie said so.” Teddy interrupts, looking smug. Malfoy takes a deep breath, and Harry can see how much he’s holding back from rolling his eyes.

“Indeed–”

“And that’s why me and Ron and Hermione were trying to help Hagrid get rid of it,” Harry jumps in, “So one night we took Norbert… uh, Norberta… up to the roof and Charlie’s friends took her away to live on the reserve.”

“Cool! Then what happened?” Teddy bounces, his hair rippling in colour from blond to black to green to blue and back to blond. Harry frowns, glancing at Malfoy, ignoring the way that Malfoy is staring at him, his eyes intense.

“Uh… then me, Hermione, Draco and Neville got in trouble for being out of bed–”

“I meant to Norberta,” Teddy says, seriously. Malfoy snorts and Harry’s frown deepens. Right, of course Teddy meant to Norbert. Because he doesn’t actually care whether or not Harry was punished. That was all Malfoy. Malfoy and his stupid stares and his stupid feet and his perfect shoulders in that tight t-shirt. No. Stupid shoulders. Stupid t-shirt. Teddy looks at him and he shakes his head, not sure what to his godson.

“Oh… uh…” he stutters.

“She lived happily ever after and Charlie looked after her because he’s a very good boy,” Malfoy says, his eyes trained on Harry, their feet pressed together.

\-----

They’re made of condoms. They don’t look like condoms, not when they’re floating two stories high twisted into balloon cats. But as they start to enchant them down, it becomes much more obvious. They’re all made of inflated condoms. Harry feels hot and cold all over, his face tingling with the heat of embarrassment as they start to pop the cats, empty, deflated condoms lying around them.

“Of all the things the students could have done on their Hogsmeade weekend, and they chose to make charmed balloon animals,” Malfoy scoffs, “it just seems so childish.” Harry looks over at him, his eyebrows raised.

“Well… I mean it’s probably less childish seeing as they’re all made of condoms.” He looks at the floor where a dozen or so are scattered around his feet. Where did they even get condoms? It had to have been a Muggle-born student. It had been an interesting lesson to learn that wizards didn’t use condoms, but used a protection charm instead. Ginny had found it hilarious when he’d stutteringly questioned her about it. So, definitely not from a wizarding family then.

“What?” Malfoy says, making Harry’s head snap up from where he’s glaring at the condoms. His mind whirs as he tries to figure out what Malfoy means.

“What?” he asks finally. Malfoy huffs and enchants another cat condom balloon down from the sky so he can pop it.

“What do you mean? There are just balloons. And not very good ones at that, they’re all translucent white,” Malfoy sneers as he holds out the uninflated condom. Harry frowns, his limbs suddenly feeling very much like they aren’t attached to him.

“Uh… these aren’t balloons.” He brings a cat down and pops it, dropping the condom quickly. Please say they weren’t used. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he happened upon a used one.

“Well then what are they?” Malfoy scowls, holding the condom up and looking at it intently with those shimmering grey eyes. Harry groans. How is he going to explain this?

“They’re… um… condoms.” Harry stares at Malfoy, taking in the completely blank face and then he realises. The only way the Weasleys knew about condoms was because of Arthur and Hermione. Malfoy wouldn’t know. He’s a pure-blood elitist. Condoms are beneath him. Harry sighs, staring at Malfoy, “right, ok. You don’t know what condoms are–”

“Obviously not,” Malfoy cuts in, his arms crossed over his chest, looking incredibly pissed off. Harry shuffles on his feet before running a hand through his hair and over his face. Great. He’s going to have to talk to Malfoy about safe fucking sex.

“Um… condoms are… uh… used in sex… for… um… protection. You know… like how wizards use Integumentum…” he mumbles, not focusing on anything other than floating a condom cat down.

“I see.” Malfoy’s perfect features twist in disgust, his nose wrinkling and his mouth curling to the side. Dropping the condom to the floor, he points his wand at his hand and casts a Scourgify. He looks back to Harry, his eyes wide and his mouth drawn thin. Harry sighs, his back awkwardly stiff and his cheeks definitely red.

“Yeah…” he mumbles, turning back to the cat condom inflatables and popping a few more. The condoms drop to the ground and Malfoy grimaces, stalking away from the scene. Harry sighs, ignoring his partner and focusing on removing the eye-sores.

\-----

“Can I just ask you one favour?” Malfoy says as he lounges on Harry’s sofa two weeks after the inflatable condom incident. The inflatable condom incident, also known as, the most embarrassing day of Harry’s life. Ron and George had found it so hilarious they’d started selling self-inflating animal shaped condoms at the shop. Malfoy was not amused. Harry nods, sliding down at the other end of the sofa, his legs hung over the arm, his fifth, no sixth, no wait, seventh tumbler of whiskey dangling from his hand.

“Sure, what is it?” He looks up at Malfoy, twisting his neck slightly so that he can see the other man’s face. Malfoy’s head is close to his, his legs draped in a similar way to Harry’s. It’s really the only way to sit after a day like today. They’d been assigned a case today where they’d had to retrieve over three hundred small magical bells that had gone rogue and wouldn’t stop ringing. Someone had decided it would be a good idea to dump their faulty merchandise in a bin on Knockturn, and when Harry and Malfoy had gone to collect them they’d begun floating away. It had taken them all day to round up all the bells.

“Can you please buy yourself a fucking chair?” Malfoy pleads and Harry snorts, trying to sound indignant.

“No! Why do you always blame the chair?” he whines and Malfoy shifts so that he’s leaning up on one arm, his head hovering above Harry’s and his legs no longer over the arm of the sofa.

“I’m not blaming the chair!” Malfoy’s eyes swirl in the low light and Harry swings his legs off the arm so he can lean up too. He doesn’t like Malfoy’s head to hover above him like that. It makes him stomach twirl and his cock twitch and something horrible happens to his ability to breathe. Fuck, Malfoy looks good.

“Good, then suck it up.” He grins at Malfoy and Malfoy rolls his eyes, placing his glass on the coffee table. He leans back, putting his feet on the coffee table far too delicately for someone so drunk.

“My ears are still ringing, Potter. I am fed up of sucking it up. I want this over.” Malfoy’s long fingers run through his hair and Harry’s itch to join them, to feel those strands between his own fingers. He frowns and plops his own glass down with a thunk.

“Well, tough. I will not lose!” he declares and Malfoy’s eyes flicker over his face, sending shivers through his body.

“You’re an idiot,” Malfoy laughs, shaking his head.

“Maybe… But I’ll be an idiot with the best chair in the Ministry.” Harry grins at Malfoy and Malfoy pauses for a minute before sliding so that his shoulder is pressed against Harry’s. It’s warm and solid and Harry feels it in his gut. Fuck, he wants Malfoy. He wants Malfoy when he’s sober, and now that he’s not sober he wants Malfoy even more. Harry shuffles, plopping his feet on the coffee table, his arm and leg sliding against Malfoy’s. His stomach wriggles and his heart speeds up as jolts of pleasure run through him at the contact. “What do you think we’ll get tomorrow?” he mumbles, trying to focus on something else.

“I already checked,” Malfoy sighs, his long fingers drawing circles on his thigh in a way that is way too distracting, “We’re doing paper work all day. We have to catalogue every single bell we caught today.”

“Tomorrow is going to be shit!” Harry groans, his head lolling to the side, settling in the crook of Malfoy’s neck. It’s nice. Warm. Malfoy stills for a second before his shoulders slump allowing Harry’s head to rest more comfortably on his shoulder. Shivers run through Harry as Malfoy’s hand slips to rest on his leg, the heat of Malfoy’s fingers burning into Harry’s skin.

The air is thick and Harry holds his breath, scared that breathing will make Malfoy realise that he’s idly stroking Harry’s thigh. He can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, his ears, his cock. His brain feels fuzzy, and he’s not sure if that’s the whiskey or if it’s just the smell of Malfoy, clean and warm, washing over him. He feels something shift next to his head and he tilts, staring into the perfect grey eyes of his partner. Malfoy’s mouth is so close to his that Malfoy’s gentle breaths tickle his lips. Malfoy’s eyes seem to be staring into him and a shudder of something that could be longing, or could be fear runs through Harry. Because that’s the thing with Malfoy, longing and fear will always mix together.

“You know… your eyes have a little bit of blue in them,” Harry whispers, unable to take his eyes off Malfoy’s, staring at the flecks of blue, the dark blue ring that surrounds the grey, the pupils, dark and blown and reflecting Harry.

“I was aware, thank you, Potter.” Malfoy’s voice is low and cracked, going straight to Harry’s groin.

“They’re nice…” Harry breathes. The air crackles around them, their magic leaking from them and twining together. Malfoy’s eyes move, taking in Harry’s face before landing on his lips and Harry feels frozen. He looks down at Malfoy’s perfect cupid-bow lips, pinks and soft, unable to do anything but stare at them. And then Malfoy’s tongue pokes through, rosy and pointed and everything snaps.

They move together, their lips clashing and their hands searching. Malfoy’s lips are as soft as they look, warm and pliant under Harry’s as Harry attacks him, needing more. His hands are in wrapped around Malfoy’s waist, keeping him close as he drowns in the heat and frission. He licks along Malfoy’s bottom lip and Malfoy opens for him. He tastes like whiskey, and something sweeter than is clearly just Malfoy. Of course Malfoy tastes sweet. Harry would have been shocked if he didn’t. Malfoy’s hands runs through Harry’s hair, tugging it lightly to tilt Harry’s head back further and Harry feels it in his stomach, making his toes curl with desire.

The kiss deepens as Harry shifts, pressing his body along Malfoy’s, the hard muscle making Harry’s cock jump. Fuck, Malfoy is hot. Harry wraps his arms further around Malfoy’s waist, dropping his legs from the coffee table and turning to properly face Malfoy. Malfoy seems to have the same idea, his body pushing against Harry’s, gently lowering him onto the sofa as their tongues run together, exploring each other’s mouths.

Malfoy’s hands are still in his hair and he arches up, needing more, needing friction. He feels the beautiful tell-tale bump in Malfoy’s trousers and his whole body is filled with a zing of pleasure. He moves his hands, rubbing them over the firm globes of Malfoy’s arse before running them back up Malfoy’s back to touch that perfect, silken hair. His mind is filled with images of things he wants to do with Malfoy, of what that wicked, brilliant tongue could do. He can’t breathe, can’t move, can only focus on the man lying on top of him.

And then, all too soon, Malfoy pulls away.

“I should…” he gestures to the fireplace and Harry feels like he’s been dropped in ice water. Of course. Malfoy needs to leave. Because what they’re doing is completely against the rules, completely inappropriate and Harry’s pretty sure completely alcohol induced. Malfoy clearly doesn’t want this. He clearly just followed Harry’s lead and is regretting it. Harry scrambles to sit up and Malfoy stands fluidly.

“Oh! Yes! Shit!” Harry runs his hands through his hair, not sure where to look, but unable to look anywhere but at Malfoy. Malfoy’s hair is mussed, his lips bee-stung and red, his eyes shining and his cheeks rosy. He looks fucking gorgeous. Harry’s cock protests at the distance between Harry and Malfoy and Harry grits his teeth. “I’m sorry… I just–”

“I’m a little drunk, and we have a long day tomorrow,” Malfoy interrupts. He gives Harry a small smile, like he’s being reasonable and not just letting Harry down gently.

“Right. Yeah… me too…” Harry babbles, suddenly unable to look at the intense gaze of Malfoy. He hears Malfoy move towards the Floo, chuck in a pitch of Floo powder and mutter his address. Harry glances up, taking one last look at Malfoy before tomorrow when Malfoy asks to be put with another partner. Malfoy smiles at him, his warm, genuine smile and Harry’s stomach clenches.

“See you tomorrow, Potter.” Malfoy ducks into the fireplace, disappearing in a rush of green flames, leaving Harry alone in his living room, dreading tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been awkward all day, the kiss hanging unsaid between them. Or at least Harry has felt awkward all day. He has no idea how Malfoy has been feeling. He hasn’t really managed to get the courage to look at him. He’s the worst Gryffindor ever. Sure, he jumped into every situation he’s ever been faced with without thinking about the consequences. And sure, he’s been prepared to give his life more times than he can remember. But this is different. This is… fuck, this is feelings. He gives a little cough and feels rather than sees Malfoy stop writing and look up.

“Listen, about yesterday…” Harry mutters, staring at his desk.

“Hmm?” Malfoy’s voice rumbles through him and his stomach clenches. This is not going to go well. Maybe he should just go to Robards and ask for a new partner now. Then Malfoy could get on with working on actual cases with a real partner, and Harry could just die in a little hole in a ground. He clenches his hands under the desk, taking a deep breath to calm his heart down and try to stop his head from swimming.

“I’m really sorry. We were tipsy and I just can’t seem to stop thinking about you fucking Blaise and…” Shit, did he really just say that. Heat trickled over him and he stares at the floor. Maybe if he doesn't move Malfoy will just leave him there to die. The room is thick with tension and Harry itches to leave, preferably forever. After a moment of silence it gets too much and Harry slowly lifts his head, glancing at Malfoy. Malfoy is stretched out on his chair, his grey eyes fixed on Harry and a soft smirk playing on the corner of his lips. He looks gorgeous and not a bit awkward. Harry groans and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck, this is embarrassing.”

“Indeed.” Malfoy watches him for a moment more before he clears his throat, moving effortlessly as he rises from his chair. His eyes stay on Harry as he wanders lazily over to Harry’s desk, and suddenly Harry finds he's forgotten how to breathe. Or how to think. Or how to move. Malfoy is dressed in smart Muggle trousers in a slate grey and a tight black cashmere jumper that Harry is pretty sure has nothing underneath. His cock stirs at the thought and he tries to rearrange himself before he realises that Malfoy is standing next to his desk, looking down at him with dark, hooded eyes.

Malfoy’s hand is cool as he wraps it around Harry’s, dragging him off the chair. Harry’s heart pounds, his pulse tickling the tops of his ears and making his fingers feel numb. Malfoy smells like soap and cologne and something sweet and Harry takes a deep breath, letting the smell flow over him as Malfoy runs his hands up and down Harry’s arms. The touch sends shivers through Harry, his trousers now uncomfortably tight around the crotch. Harry keeps his eyes locked on Malfoy's, unsure what is happening, but not really willing to stop it. Malfoy takes a small step closer, bumping his nose against Harry’s.

“What are you doing?” Harry breathes, his eyes closing without his permission. He can feel Malfoy smile and his fingers start twisting and stroking the soft material of Malfoy’s jumper. Maybe everything about Malfoy is this soft. He can feel Malfoy’s breath against his lips, his heat seeping into Harry’s skin, his smell making Harry’s brain light.

“Well, I thought that maybe we could pick up where we left off yesterday?” Malfoy’s voice rumbles through him and his cock twitches.

“Where we–“ Malfoy’s lips crash against his, stealing the breath from him. Whining, Harry slides his hands through Malfoy’s hair, pulling him closer as Malfoy runs his tongue along Harry’s bottom lip. It makes his head ache with the pressure of how much he wants Malfoy, of how good it feels to have Malfoy’s body pressed against him. Malfoy’s tongue slips into his mouth and his brain completely disengages. He runs his tongue along Malfoy’s, feeling it slick and hot, tasting tea and mint and something Harry can’t quite place. Malfoy’s lips are so soft, but so insistent and they move against Harry’s, Malfoy’s breath brushing lightly against Harry’s cheek.

Malfoy’s fingers find the button and zip of Harry’s jeans, deftly opening them before lightly running around the waistband. Harry groans as Malfoy’s hands come to rest on his hips, pulling Harry flush against him. Harry's hips start to rock, his cock leaking in his pants as he grips the back of Malfoy’s head. Malfoy gives him a small squeeze before moving his mouth away from Harry’s, peppering small kisses along Harry’s jaw. Harry’s head drops back against his will as his whole body becomes heavy and pliable. Malfoy’s mouth sucking on the soft skin where his jaw meets his neck. Fuck, that’s good. Maybe if he’d known that Malfoy was this good he’d have tried this years ago. Maybe.

Malfoy’s mouth moves lower and Harry knows he should probably be doing something. He isn’t being a very active participant in this. His hips rut forward and Malfoy growls into his neck, sucking slightly harder. Tingles in his fingertips, throbbing in his pants, mouth dry, body shaking, brain not working. Clearly.

“Tell me what you want, Potter.” Malfoy’s breath tickles against Harry’s collarbone, sending a jolt through him. His cock aches and his heart pounds and all thought process is useless. Shaking, he runs his hands through Malfoy’s hair, grounding him. What does he want? Images of Malfoy fucking into Blaise crash through his mind and his whole body surges forward, pressing against Malfoy. Against those hard muscles of his chest and the firm curve of his cock.

“Ungh,” Harry moans, his brain too fuzzy to make noises. Malfoy sucks particularly hard at his neck and he cries out, “Fuck me, Malfoy.”

“What was that?” Malfoy teases, swiping his tongue across Harry’s sensitive skin. Harry cants his hip, searching for some sort of friction, and Malfoy digs his fingers into Harry’s hips. Need and want pool in Harry’s stomach, the swirl of it making him dizzy.

“Fuck me. I want your cock in me,” Harry pants. Malfoy smirks into his skin, before pulling back and looking at Harry with eyes that are so lust blown they're black. His hair is mussed and his lips are pink and plump. He looks so gorgeous, Harry can't help but plant a hard kiss to Malfoy’s lips. Malfoy responds, his hand moving to cup Harry’s head before pulling back and gazing down at Harry, his smile predatory, excitement pulsing in Harry’s trousers.

“Well that can definitely be arranged,” Malfoy says, his voice rolling and deep, “Turn around.” Harry moves quickly, knees knocking against Malfoy’s desk, the pain not even registering through the lust haze. Malfoy drags his trousers and pants down, letting them pool at Harry’s feet, the cold air suddenly on Harry’s butt cheeks sending a whole new wave through him. He hears Malfoy’s zip undoing, his stomach squirming at the thought that Malfoy is behind him, cock out, wanting Harry.

Malfoy whispers something that Harry doesn’t quite catch before running one long, perfect finger along Harry’s arse crack, brushing his entrance lightly. Crying out, Harry arches his back, needing that again, needing more. Strong fingers press into the globes of Harry’s arse, massaging them, spreading them apart as Malfoy relaxes him. Dropping his head on Malfoy’s desk with a thunk he feels himself go pliant, and Malfoy spreads his arse cheeks.

“Your arsehole… fuck, Potter. It’s beautiful,” Malfoy breathes and a soft whine escapes from Harry. A finger lightly traces the ring of muscle, and Harry can feel it flutter. Malfoy continues stroking along Harry’s crack, massaging his cheeks before circling his hole, his fingers slick and cool. Harry grips the desk, trying to push his hips back, needing more, needing to have Malfoy in him, but Malfoy’s hands tighten on him before returning to the tantalisingly soft stroking.

“Fuck, Malfoy!” Harry shouts as the tip of Malfoy’s finger breaches him. He can practically hear Malfoy smirk as he moves his finger, slowly dragging it out before pressing in, each time going further, deeper. Reminding himself to breathe, Harry focuses on the sweet stretch, the deep roll of pleasure. Malfoy withdraws his finger, pressing back in with two, filling Harry almost to the point of pleasure. Almost. Harry rocks, and this time, Malfoy lets him, slowly curling his fingers as Harry fucks himself on them. His beautiful, elegant fingers that are brushing frustratingly close to Harry’s prostate, until Harry is shaking on the desk.

“Please… please, Malfoy… fuck me…” he sobs, almost crying as Malfoy removes his fingers. His cock throbs between his legs and he wants to touch it, to feel the sweet friction of his hand, but he doesn’t. He wants to wait, because he knows, just knows, that if Malfoy has him this boneless from just his fingers, then Harry is going to want to wait for that fucking perfect cock. The dull head of Malfoy’s cock presses gently against Harry’s opening and Harry bites his lip to keep from shouting. There’s a little bit of pressure and then the head of Malfoy’s cock pops past the tight muscles of Harry’s hole, the burn shooting through Harry and almost pushing him over the edge.

“So good, Potter,” Malfoy praises as he slowly thrusts, sliding further in each time, letting Harry adjust to the intrusion, “So fucking tight…” And then he’s fully seated in Harry, his balls resting near Harry’s. The thought is so erotic that Harry almost chokes on air as he gasps. Malfoy’s hands rub at his arse cheeks and Harry can just imagine him looking down at where his cock disappears into Harry, just like he did when he was fucking Blaise. Whimpering, Harry nudges his hips back. Thankfully, Malfoy takes the hint and starts to rock his hips, each thrust of his cock sending a wave of pleasure through him.

And then Malfoy presses those magical fingers into Harry’s hips and angles them down slightly, shifting behind Harry and pumps in again, his cock brushing over Harry’s prostate expertly and Harry cries out, seeing stars. He hears Malfoy hiss behind him before Malfoy starts fucking into him in earnest. Harry writhes on the table as Malfoy pounds into him, his fingers digging into Harry’s flesh, the room filled with the filthy sound of skin slapping against skin, Malfoy’s grunts and Harry’s moans.

“I’m going to…” Harry pants, his hands gripping the table as he shakes, his balls tightening.

“Come on, Potter,” Malfoy growls and that’s all it takes.

“Fuck!” Harry screams, coming completely untouched, his orgasm ripping through him. His vision goes white as his body shudders, his whole body tingling right to his toes. Behind him Malfoy continues to rock, until he’s stilling a moment later, spilling into Harry, hot and thick. The tickle of it pushes the last of Harry’s orgasm from him, and he sobs as his body flops, held up only by Malfoy’s strong hands still on his hips.

After a moment Malfoy pulls out of him and Harry tries not to moan at the loss of heat and the slight sting of having Malfoy’s cock slip from his now tender hole. Malfoy mutters something and the fresh zing of a cleaning charm flows over Harry, making him shiver and his cock twitch. Malfoy gently lowers him onto the floor and flops down next to him, the least elegant that Harry has ever seen him move. They sit in silence together, panting. It would be nice to sleep now, sitting in their office, enjoy the heat of Malfoy’s body next to him. He could just close his eyes and forget that they have to finish their paperwork today so that they can get back to solving another pointless case. Fuck, if Malfoy is going to fuck him like that again, he’ll consider buying himself a chair.

“Fuck…” he huffs, banging his head lightly against the desk.

“Indeed,” Malfoy chuckles next to him.

“That was…” He mumbles before he realises he doesn’t actually have words for it. Amazing, Phenomenal. The best sex he’s ever had in his life, including that time that he went to a swingers club with Charlie.

“Agreed.” Malfoy sounds exhausted and Harry glances across at him. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are closed, his golden eyelashes fluttering against his skin. His mouth is pink and plump and partially open, his hair flopping into his eyes. He looks beautiful and dishevelled. Oh, what Harry would give to see him like that every day. Or at least once a week. He sighs happily to himself and closes his eyes, relaxed and sated and happy to sit next to Malfoy on their office floor forever.

\-----

“So, I was thinking…” Harry stutters as they sit opposite each other at the pub. Malfoy smirks, leaning back in his chair, one long leg crossed over the other.

“Oh dear, Potter,” he teases and Harry rolls his eyes.

“Ha, ha.” He leans back and takes a sip from his beer. Malfoy watches him, his eyes flickering over Harry’s face as his mouth quirks at the corner. His hair is falling into his face, shining in the low light of the pub. Harry thought that having this conversation at the pub would make it less awkward. After their… well, after Malfoy fucked him over a desk, it had become much less awkward in the office. If anything, it had become warm and flirty and relaxed. And now Harry is ruining it, by fucking talking. Just like always. He sighs and downs his beer.

“What were you thinking?” Malfoy says, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. His sleeve is rolled up, the ugly scar of his Dark Mark covered with a tattoo of Hermes’ flying sandal. The first time Harry had seen it he’d thrown up. The first time Hermione had seen it she’d not been able to speak for days. In the end it had been Malfoy wrapping his arms around her, tears streaking down his cheeks as he begged her to forgive him, apologised for everything he’d ever done, regretting ever letting anyone hurt someone he grew to care so much, to get her to come out of her silence. Malfoy had been a mess for a few days afterwards, disappearing one evening and returning the next day with the new tattoo. Apparently he’d gone to a Muggle tattoo shop and hadn’t left until they’d done it. Harry didn’t want to think about how painful it must have been.

Malfoy clears his throat and Harry jumps, remembering that he’s just been asked a question. He fiddles with a beer mat, ripping the corners off in an attempt not to look at Malfoy.

“I was thinking that we maybe need to talk about… um… this…” Harry croaks, gesturing wildly between the two of them.

“This?” Malfoy raises an eyebrow, his lips still twitching into a crooked grin.

“Um… us…” Harry stutters, not really sure what else to say. His stomach clenches and he feels it swirl around his body. Maybe he should have been sober for this. Drunk is clearly not working. Not that he’s drunk. He’s had one beer. The light headedness is probably caused by how fucking good Malfoy smells, and how Harry can feel the heat coming from him, and it almost definitely isn’t helped by the fact that Malfoy has started running his foot up and down Harry’s calf.

“Oh, I see.” Malfoy smirks, his eyes twinkling and Harry powers through.

“Just because… well… we work together… and… uh–”

“This is painful,” Malfoy cuts in and Harry sighs, trying to get rid of some of the tension that is currently twisted in the back of Harry’s neck.

“Yeah… sorry…” he mumbles, running a hand over his face. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to talk about it. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned anything. Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t have let Malfoy fuck him over a desk. His chest tightens and his cock twitches at the memory. No, that was definitely a good idea. “It’s just… uh… well, we work together… and relationships… um… well, I mean there’s a reason Ron quit being an Auror…”

“How about this: We’re not dating. We’re just… fuck buddies,” Malfoy says, taking pity on Harry. Harry frowns at him, spinning his glass in his hands, just so he has something to do with them.

“Fuck buddies?” he asks and Malfoy chuckles, the kind of laugh that comes from his stomach and rolls around his tongue a few times before being released into the world. He nods and leans closer, Harry trapped in those perfect icicle eyes.

“Friends, buddies if you will, who sometimes fuck.” Malfoy makes it sound so reasonable and Harry could kick himself. Obviously. It’s not a very difficult phrase to decipher. It’s more that his brain isn’t in gear. Because of Malfoy. It’s all Malfoy’s fault, really. And then his mind focuses on a word through the haze.

“Sometimes?” He frowns, his eyebrows low and Malfoy chuckles again before leaning further forward.

“Maybe more than sometimes.” Malfoy’s voice is low and seductive and Harry’s cock starts to swell in his trousers, the blood rushing from his head. No, this is a bad idea. For one, they’re in a public place and there are all sorts of codes they’d be violating if that happened. And for two… well, Harry doesn’t really have a two. Except, he does have one question.

“And if we decide that we want more?” he blurts out, apparently unable to control himself.

“We tell the other one and have another supremely awkward conversation like this one,” Malfoy dismisses with a wave of his hand, as if that situation could happen to anyone. Maybe in the Malfoy circles it could.

“Sounds good.” Harry nods once, to show he’s heard and understood.

“Indeed.” Malfoy pauses, his eyes twinkling as he watches Harry, before leaning over, running his finger over Harry’s hand and looking at Harry through his eyelashes. Harry’s stomach jolts and his mouth goes dry. Malfoy’s voice is deep and thick as he practically purrs, “now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather like to fuck you.”

\-----

“Do you want to interview the witness?” Malfoy asks as he starts to flick his wand through the air, searching for traces of magic. Harry looks around the room, frowning. It’s not a big room, but it’s filled to the point where Harry is struggling to breathe. Dust swirls shine in the little bit of sunlight that cracks through the curtains and Harry can’t actually see a surface that doesn’t have something on it. How Miss Jenkins could possibly know that someone had broken in and stolen anything is beyond him. Harry’s pretty sure the ‘bespoke crystal glasses’ that have gone missing are probably just buried under something. The house had been empty when the apparent intruder had ‘broken in’. Well. Almost empty.

“You mean the cat?” Harry points at a large black cat who is sitting on the only available space in the room, its large amber eyes trained on Harry and Malfoy. If anyone had broken in, Harry is pretty certain that the cat could have fought them off.

“Are there any other witnesses?” Malfoy says, his eyes sparkling and his lips twitching at the corner. Harry gives Malfoy’s shoulder a shove, making the magic wobble around him, shooting him a grin before he walks over to one of the surfaces. He starts to lift things, looking for the glasses. If he can find them then they can go home early. Maybe him and Malfoy can spend a lazy afternoon in bed. His cock twitches at the thought.

He turns back to look at Malfoy, watching him as he works. His wrist is elegant as he flicks his wand, the same movements he uses when he runs his hand over Harry’s cock, his lips moving silently as he mutters the spells. Those perfect, pink, cupid-bow lips. Harry looks back at the cat. Maybe if he wasn’t sure that the cat would attack him he’d go and distract Malfoy from the pointless job. The cat blinks at him and he sighs, turning back to Malfoy.

“Got anything?” he asks. Malfoy mutters for a moment more before dropping his wand and slipping it into his holster.

“Of course. I’m brilliant at my job,” he smirks, his chest puffed out and his eyes rippling, “it’s probably just Miss Jenkins, but we still need to check.” Harry stares at Malfoy for a second, his mind whirring, adrenalin pumping through him as their eyes lock, the air still around them. He can feel his heart pound, his fingers tickling with it and laughter bubbling in his stomach. Malfoy’s jaw twitches and Harry jumps.

“I’m not going–”

“You’re going to see Dolores.” Malfoy interrupts. Harry laughs, startling the cat who glares at him, but doesn’t move.

“Ok. If you go to see Dolores, I’ll cook you dinner,” he bargains. Malfoy tilts his head to the side, his brain almost audibly running through the deal. Harry’s stomach twists and excitement buzzes through him as he watches.

“I will go to see Dolores, and you cook me dinner…” Malfoy raises one eyebrow, his smile all teeth as his eyes darken, “naked.” Harry’s breath leaves him, his whole body on fire as his cock instantly starts to harden. Malfoy looks triumphant, his slender arms crossed over his chest and Harry gives him a nod.

“Done!” he says, spinning on the spot and Apparating away.

\-----

Harry stirs the chilli around the saucepan. Malfoy likes his chilli. Not that he's making it because Malfoy likes it. But he did go and see Dolores on his own, so he deserves something nice. Nicer than Harry’s pasty white arse anyway. Although judging by the soft appreciative noises and occasional moan from behind him, Malfoy quite likes Harry’s pasty white arse. And, not that he's going to admit it to Malfoy, but the strings of his brand new, never before worn, apron tickle his butt crack is sort of nice. He might even be sporting a semi. He reaches across the hob to get the pepper and Malfoy sighs.

“I think you’re enjoying this too much,” Harry laughs, giving his bum a little shake. Malfoy chuckles and Harry glances at him over his shoulder, his cock hardening further at the sight of Malfoy stretched out, also completely naked, leisurely stroking his full erect cock.

“Of course I am. It’s a spectacular view.” Malfoy’s smirk makes Harry shiver. He knows what that means.

“And you’re getting dinner.” Harry points at the saucepan and goes back to seasoning.

“Hmm… secondary point,” Malfoy states, his voice light and smooth. Harry rolls his eyes, but can't quite keep his mouth from stretching into a wide grin. Once upon a time, when Malfoy came around for dinner, Harry would cook for them and they'd laugh and argue and no one would be naked. To be fair, that does still happen sometimes, but Harry quite enjoys the times when there's infinitely more naked than there has been in the past.

The harsh screech of a chair scraping against the tiles shocks Harry from his thoughts of nakedness. Strong hands wrap around Harry’s waist. Pulling him backwards, away from the hob. Harry frowns, quickly dropping the spoon back into the chilli before he’s too far away from it to do anything. Malfoy’s hands move from his hips, but their hold is still strong as they separate Harry’s butt cheeks. There’s a rush of hot air and Harry’s legs buckle. Fuck, Malfoy is so close to his arse… there’s no way he’s going to do that. No way.

“What are you doing?” he stutters, just to make sure. The hot air whooshes against his hole again and He closes his eyes, his cock rubbing against the apron, the slight friction of it making Harry dizzy.

“What does it feel like?” Malfoy mutters before he licks, his tongue hot and wet against Harry. Harry cries out, his whole body alive with spasms of pleasure as Malfoy laps at him. He clenches his hands by his side as Malfoy continues, his tongue running circle around Harry’s entrance before poking gently in, making Harry cry out. A thin film of sweat starts to form on Harry’s back and he resists the urge to press his arse into Malfoy’s face. Malfoy probably wouldn’t appreciate it. Saliva trickles down the sensitive skin under Harry’s balls and down his leg and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything quite so sexy. He slips his hand under his apron and starts to palm his erection, squeezing slightly at the base to stop himself from spilling too early.

“Malfoy…” Harry whines as the blond moves away from him. He’s rewarded with a sharp bite to the butt cheek and a slick finger pressing into him. He clenches his eyes tight, his hand moving quickly, swiping his thumb over the head of his cock, collecting the pre-come and spreading it over his shaft. Malfoy is quick to open him up, pushing in one, two, three fingers in short, stabs that have Harry wriggling, needing to be fuller of Malfoy. He’s about to say something when Malfoy removes his fingers and lowers Harry onto his cock, thrusting into him with one sharp movement.

“Fuck, Potter,” Malfoy growls behind him as he lets Harry adjust to the feeling. After a moment, when their breathing is almost back to normal, Harry starts to move his hand again, and Malfoy starts to thrust. Harry raises himself slightly, his thighs are going to fucking kill tomorrow, and Malfoy moves quickly, hands holding onto Harry’s waist, the chair creaking dangerously underneath him. Harry’s hand move furiously and his balls start to tighten.

“More… please… please, Malfoy. Harder,” he gasps and Malfoy huffs out a laugh before gripping tighter and moving faster, bringing Harry down to meet each thrust. Harry knows there is something he should be thinking about now, but all his thought process seems to be occupied with how fucking perfect Malfoy is at this. His legs shake and his stomach twists and he knows.

“Malfoy… I’m–”

“I know… me too…” Malfoy’s breath tickles his back and then he’s coming, all over the inside of his apron. Malfoy slams his down once more, spurting inside him and Harry groans, seeing stars as he teases out the last few drops of come from the end of his cock. When he’s finished he leans back, his skin sticking to Malfoy’s as his sweat starts to cool.

“That was amazing. Dinner’s ruined though…” Harry pants, looking over to where his saucepan is smoking. Malfoy gives him a small tap on the leg and he pulls off with a slight hiss, moving to see if he can salvage any of it. Malfoy’s come slips from his loosened hole, dripping down his leg and he thinks about cleaning it up. Maybe not. Maybe he’ll wait until later. Maybe he’ll just enjoy the tickle of it as it leaves him for a moment. Malfoy comes to stand next to him, looking down into the saucepan and grimaces.

“Mmm. I should probably go anyway,” he mutters, looking at Harry. His eyes are swimming, and Harry can’t quite figure out what Malfoy is thinking. He looks almost sad, almost like he wants to say something, but Harry has been partners with him for five years. There isn’t much that Malfoy won’t say, so he probably isn’t thinking anything. Maybe he’s worried about Harry. He’s the sort of person who does that. Not about everyone, but about Harry definitely.

“Oh… yeah, sure. See you tomorrow.” Harry gives him a grin, hoping that it’ll take the look off Malfoy’s face. Malfoy stares at him for a fraction of a second longer, before clapping him on the shoulder and moving to leave the kitchen.

“See you tomorrow,” Malfoy gives him a lazy wave as he moves through the flat. The Floo rushes to life a moment later and Harry stands in the kitchen, feeling completely exhausted and not at all hungry.

\-----

Malfoy thumps a pint down in front of him, spilling two fingers worth on the table. Harry scowls, pulling out his wand and quickly Vanishing it. It's not his fucking fault that Malfoy had fallen into that mud that was perhaps more pig crap than mud. Kids are just getting more creative with their team pride. Across from him Malfoy glares, his grey eyes full of fire.

“Let me guess,” Pansy smirks, looking between the two of them, “Potter still hasn’t given up and bought himself a chair?” Harry doesn't have to say anything, the twitch in Malfoy’s jaw doing all the talking for him. He catches Malfoy’s eye, and they stare at each other for a moment. He knows he should apologise. Malfoy really doesn’t like getting dirty, and Harry really didn’t mean for him to get involved. But he did and he is. He gives Malfoy a small smile and Malfoy’s shoulders slump before he rolls his eyes and shoots Harry a small smile back.

“Parkinson, the day that Harry lets Robards win is the day I get him checked into the Janus Thickey Ward.” Ron pats Harry on the shoulder in a show of support. Harry grins at him before sticking his tongue out at Malfoy, because it’s the only thing he can think of that’ll not get him hexed.

“So that’s a no?” Blaise sighs, taking a sip from his wine glass. Harry frowns. Blaise just doesn't get it.

“Well, it wouldn’t be winning if I just bought myself a chair,” he reaffirms, possibly not for the first time, judging by the rolled eyes and groans that surround him. He huffs and leans back in his chair, picking up his pint and taking a gulp. Fuck them. It’s not just the chair. It’s the principle. Ok, maybe it is the chair. But it’s a really good chair!

“What’s so good about this chair anyway?” Theo asks, looking between the two of them, his eyebrows low in confusion. Harry feels an oddly familiar mix of excitement and annoyance tingle in his fingertips. Sitting up he leans across to better see Theo, adrenaline making his heart pump and his mind clear.

“It’s the best chair in the Ministry,” he practically shouts, suddenly much more excited than he should be. Theo raises his eyebrows, his eyes wide as he looks at Harry like Harry has grown another head.

“Yeah, I got that… but why?” Theo’s voice gets forceful as he asks and Harry growls, running his hand through his hair before shuffling closer.

“Because–”

“Because it’s a Muggle chair, which means it has wheels, which are a much better way of moving a chair than picking it up, and all of the wheels are in good working condition. But not only that, both of the armrests are made of memory foam, and both of them can be adjusted. The back is made up of three separate parts so you can adjust for the three different parts of your back – lower, upper and head – and it reclines so when Potter is tired of my voice he can have a nap. The height is adjustable and it has an inbuilt foot rest.” Malfoy jumps in, sounding thoroughly bored, “which makes it superior to any of the other chairs that the Ministry has.”

“Yeah… that’s exactly it…” Harry stares at him, his mind whirring, and his limbs strangely heavy. Malfoy’s eyes shine, his beautiful lips quirking at the corner, a soft blush rising in his cheeks. He looks like he does just before Harry takes his cock in his mouth. Harry shuffles slightly in his chair. But it’s more than that. Harry’s chest tightens and he takes a deep breath, ignoring it.

“Don’t look so startled, Harry, you talk about it so much I think we could all recite that speech.” Hermione interrupts his thought, probably for the best. Probably. He tries to straighten his face out, like he's seen Malfoy do a hundred times before, but he can't seem to get his eyebrows to behave.

“It also happens to be exactly the same as a chair I saw in a Muggle catalogue for £70,” Malfoy huffs and Harry really loses control of his face. Next to him Ron guffaws and Blaise looks mildly amused. No. they don’t get to be amused at him. Malfoy was the one looking in a Muggle catalogue. A Muggle catalogue! Harry doesn’t think he’s ever looked in a Muggle catalogue before.

“What were you doing looking in a Muggle catalogue?” He asks, his voice too high and his eyebrows even higher.

“Thinking about buying you the fucking chair so that I could actually do my job properly and not babysit you on the ridiculous cases we get sent on.” Malfoy leans back in his chair and sips on his wine, his lip twisted into a sneer but his eyes sparkling.

“You were going to buy me a chair?” Harry stutters, his body rolling from hot to cold and back again as he tries to figure out what’s going on.

“Concentrate, Potter, I was going to end the fucking childish games of dickheads,” Malfoy sniffs. Staring at him, Harry tries not to think about the fact that Malfoy was going to buy him a chair. It's not like he was thinking of buying him an engagement ring or something else huge, but he was thinking about buying him something that was somehow more romantic. Harry’s cock gives an appreciative twitch, but it's the stirring in Harry’s chest that bothers him more. Why would Malfoy buy Harry something romantic? They aren't a couple, they're fuck buddies. And partners. At work, partners at work. Fuck. Harry feels the heat all over him, itchy and suffocating. He can't breathe. He can't… a toe touches his and he jolts back to the present. Malfoy is still sneering at him, but there's concern swirling in those beautiful grey eyes. Taking a deep breath, Harry grins.

“I didn’t know you liked me that much, Malfoy.” His chest relaxes as Malfoy rolls his eyes. Yeah. Malfoy is a bellend. Harry was just shocked. It was nothing.

“I don’t,” Malfoy protests, looking into his wine. Harry leans forward, on my stronger ground.

“Sure… keep telling yourself that,” he purrs and Malfoy shoots him a glare, before biting that perfect lip with his perfect fucking teeth. A low growl escapes from the back of Harry’s throat that he really hopes no one heard. Especially not… um… who was there with them. Hermione. Fuck. Harry tries to look away, but his eyes are caught on that beautiful curve of flesh where it dips under Malfoy’s teeth, Malfoy’s eyebrow raised ever so slightly, like a secret fucking promise of what's coming.

“Do you two want to get a room?” Ron’s voice cuts through the haze and the moment is over. Malfoy gives Harry one last look, something Harry’s lust fuzzed brain can't decipher, before turning to Ron and smirking.

“Depends… are you ready to swing my way yet, Weasley?”

\-----

“You did that on purpose!” Harry scrambles to his feet, his broom abandoned as he stalks towards Malfoy. Malfoy the fucking cheating wanker. Who the fuck does he think he is? Harry's throat is tight, the skin on the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably as he tries to hold back from punching Malfoy. Harry’s jeans have a rip in the knee and he’s covered in mud from where the two of them landed awkwardly on the ground after Malfoy’s blatant and disgusting cheating. Malfoy stands up from where he's landed, his hair wild around his face, mud covering one side, his clothes filthy. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are clear. He looks like sex, but the anger bubbling in Harry’s stomach stops his cock from reacting. Almost.

“Of course I did it on purpose. That’s the fucking game!” Malfoy snarls, bending to pick up his broom. Harry’s brain fills with a harsh buzz and he gives Malfoy a hard push in the shoulder before he can really think about what he's doing. Malfoy turns on him, his eyes darkening, and grabs Harry’s hoodie before shoving him back. Harry stumbles, righting himself after a moment, and grasping Malfoy’s jumper and pulling him close, their noses almost touching.

“It was a foul,” Harry spits and Malfoy leans into his hold, their bodies almost flush against each other's. Harry feels the anger start to slip from him as the heat of Malfoy makes other parts of his body interested. He growls to himself and clutches onto Malfoy harder, focusing on how insufferable he is. The fucking knob. Malfoy’s smirk reminds Harry of his annoyance and he gives Malfoy a little shake. Malfoy scowls at him, his hands tightening where they've somehow ended up at Harry’s hips.

“It was a perfectly legal manoeuvre.” Malfoy’s voice is tight and barely above a whisper, but there's a deep rumble a challenge under the tension. He wants to fight. The fucker dick wants to fight. Fine. The realisation hits Harry in the stomach and a fresh wave of frustration rolls through him, making his body ache. Malfoy smirks, like he knows how Harry is feeling and leans closer, his fucking pointy nose brushing against Harry’s. “A legal manoeuvre that meant I beat you,” Malfoy whispers.

“Bullshit!” Harry bellows, pushing Malfoy away.

“Boys!” Ginny’s voice rings over them and they both turn to her.

“What?” they snap in unison. Ginny looks between the two of them and Harry clenches his fists at his side so he doesn’t punch Malfoy is his stupid fucking perfect face.

“Does it really matter? Just let the thing go, and we’ll start another game. Best of three…” Ginny cajoles, unusually placid. Harry storms towards her, holding one shaking hand out, pointing at Malfoy. He ignores Malfoy’s snort. Fuck him. He can snort all he wants when he’s alone having a lonely wank tonight all alone. Without Harry. Alone.

“I’m not playing with him if he’s going to cheat!” Harry shouts, his blood pumping loudly in his ears.

“Bollocks!” Malfoy scoffs behind him and he whirls on the spot, glaring at the blond.

“Bollocks I won’t play, or bollocks you don’t cheat?” he growls through gritted teeth. Malfoy smirks, raising one eyebrow and leaning on his broom.

“Both.”

“You fucking liar! You absolutely cheated!” Harry is getting too close to him again, drawn like a fucking magnet. A fucking magnet that is being a fucking arsehole. Malfoy’s eyes twitch over him, sparkling with something that better not be fucking amusement, his jaw twitching before he relaxes completely, running a hand through his hair. Fuck him. He knows how much Harry likes that. He looks sheepishly up at Harry through his eyelashes and bites his lip.

“If it makes you feel any better about losing, then sure. I cheated.” Malfoy says, his voice flat, mocking Harry. Harry loses all ability to think or move or breathe as he stares at Malfoy.

“What do you mean if it makes me feel better?” Harry’s voice gets higher, his eyebrows shooting up. Malfoy looks so calm, so smooth and it makes Harry want to shake him, to run his fingers through his hair and mess it up even more than the ground has, to make Malfoy show him some sort of emotion, some lack of control. He stares at him, his chest tight and his mouth dry, “You fucking cheated!”

“Sure I did,” Malfoy grins, looking far too much like he’s having fun.

“You did!” Harry screeches, his voice stinging his throat as it gets higher.

“Sure.” Malfoy shrugs and starts to walk away.

“You–”

“Let it go, Harry,” Ginny puts a hand gently on his shoulder, “You can beat him in the next game.” Harry groans, but nods, following her lead as she wanders back towards the others to starts the next match.

\-----

“You fucking cheated!” Harry shouts, slamming the door with a satisfying bang. Malfoy turns to look at him, a smirk playing on his lips and one eyebrow raised. The fucking prick. Who the fuck does he think he is? Harry’s whole body vibrates as he glares at the blond in front of him.

“Seriously, Potter? You’re still on about that?” Malfoy drawls and Harry screams, a low, guttural scream that echoes through his hallway. Malfoy is such a wanker. Why can’t he just get angry with Harry? Why doesn’t he scream and shout? Harry turns and punches his wall, not sure if the crack comes from the wall or his hand. Spinning he glowers at Malfoy.

“I hate it when you do that!” Adrenalin pumps through him and he thinks about taking a deep breath. No. Fuck it. No one can hear them. Malfoy crosses his arms, leaning back on one strong leg, that fucking smirk still on his fucking face.

“Do what?” he practically sings and Harry stalks closer to him. Maybe he’ll punch him. He’s never punched him before. That’s more Hermione’s style. Maybe he’d like it. Maybe he could make that fucking perfect face not so fucking perfect. The thought of marking Malfoy in that way, in any way, sends a thrill through Harry and he lets it mix in with the anger swirling in his chest.

“Make out like I’m the fucking crazy one when I KNOW you cheated,” he snarls. His head is fuzzy, his skin itchy and prickling. He’s too hot. Too furious.

“And what if I did?” Malfoy leans forward, looking fucking superior. The fucking dick! He did it! He fucking cheated, and then he made all their friends think that Harry was being stupid.

“I knew it!” His voice stings his throat as the words fly from his mouth. Malfoy’s arms drop and he starts to stalk forward. Harry moves back. No. Malfoy isn’t going to just fuck his way out of this. He’s a fucking cheat. A dirty, lying cheat. Harry’s legs feel numb as they move, his cock twitching with interest at the way Malfoy’s eyes darken, the predatory smirk on his lips making the swirl of lust and anger in Harry’s stomach definitely swing further towards lust.

“Why does it bother you? So I cheated. I’m a dirty, fucking Slytherin and I cheated.” Malfoy’s voice is deep and rumbling. He continues to move forwards, his body swaying like the fucking snake that he is. He still has a streak of mud on his cheek from the game, his hair wild, his clothes a mess. He shouldn’t look this fucking good when Harry is this fucking angry at him. No.

“Fuck off!” Harry bellows and Malfoy only grins more, his eyes dancing.

“I purposefully swung our brooms so that I could get the snitch. I knew you would get it first and I had to beat you…” Malfoy’s words ring in Harry’s brain, and he feels light headed. His back hits his front door and his body sings with excitement. No. Anger. Not excitement. His cock swells in his trousers and his head swims. He’s trapped, his heart pounding, turned on and fuming mad and all Malfoy is doing is trailing closer.

“Stop!” Harry shouts, not necessarily to Malfoy.

“And all your friends believed me over you,” Malfoy whispers, their noses almost touching.

“Shut up!” Harry shoves at Malfoy and Malfoy catches his hands, spinning him around and slamming him into the door. He pins both of Harry’s hands above his head with one of his, grunting. Harry’s erection springs free as Malfoy yanks his pants down. He pants hard as Malfoy mutters a spell, loosening Harry’s hole, making it slick and ready. Harry hates it when he does that. It feels so… impersonal. He turns his head to say something to Malfoy, and Malfoy’s lips crash against his, their kiss furious, too much teeth and spit. The sting of Harry’s wrists pressed against the door makes Harry’s cock throb. Malfoy pulls away from the kiss, using his free hand to release his own cock. Harry shudders in pleasure as he feels Malfoy’s cock, hard and hot, pressing between his butt cheeks. The fucking prick.

Harry arches his back without even thinking and Malfoy presses his lips to Harry’s throat, sucking hard as he presses his cock to Harry’s loosened hole. Fucking hell. Harry growls, needing Malfoy to fuck him. Needing Malfoy to use all that energy that is flowing through Harry before Harry turns around and decks him. Because he could. Harry frequently beats Malfoy in hand to hand combat training. He pushes back against Malfoy and Malfoy presses harder on his wrists.

“Fuck! Potter!” Malfoy shouts out, his cock slipping into Harry. Harry grunts, focusing on the anger and lust pooling in his stomach.

“Shut up and fuck me!” He cries, banging his head on the door and Malfoy starts to move is harsh, punishing thrusts. Spasms of pleasure run through Harry, his limbs heavy and his head swimming. Every time Malfoy pounds into him the door rattles and Harry sees stars. His stomach twists and his balls start to tighten, his eyes clenched shut and his head startlingly clear.

“I’m coming…” he groans into the door and Malfoy leans closer, his chest pressed against Harry’s back.

“Not if I get there first…” he hisses into Harry’s ear. Harry scowls and Malfoy pumps harder, spilling into Harry’s arse. The shock of come filling him pushes Harry over the edge, heat flowing through him, his whole body tightening, shaking through his orgasm as he comes all over his front door. He gasps, his body going limp, and he leans against the door. Malfoy releases his wrists and he rubs at them a little, the sting fading along with his anger. Fucking Malfoy with his fucking ability to make Harry boneless and weak and not angry with him anymore.

“You’re a dick,” he says into the door. Malfoy leans against him, kissing his neck gently, the pressure and heat making Harry feel tired as well as sated.

“Perhaps,” Malfoy breathes, his breath tickling Harry’s neck, “But you’re the one who finds it sexy.”

\-----

Andy’s house should not be able to hold this many people, but somehow it works. Harry squeezes past where her and Arthur are deep in conversation about something Ministry related and stumbles into the garden. It’s a beautiful day for April, crisp and sunny, and Teddy is thoroughly enjoying his birthday party, even though, as he told Harry multiple times, ‘it’s not actually on his birthday, because his birthday is a Tuesday and everyone is at work, so Granny took my for ice cream on Tuesday and said we could have a party today, which means he gets ice cream twice’. Harry doesn’t want to point out that Teddy often gets ice cream twice in one week, because his cousin and godfather are huge pushovers.

Harry settles himself on a chair and looks out over the garden, the sea of ginger hair, the occasional blonde, the occasional brunette, the kids running around, screaming and laughing. Teddy stands in the middle of it all, his hair rippling to match everyone there. He’s so happy. This is what his childhood should have been. This is what Remus should have had. He’d be so happy to see Teddy now, surrounded by family.

A flash of platinum blond draws his attention across the garden to where Malfoy is standing with his mum. Narcissa looks cheerful, her own blonde hair hanging loose down her back, her robes flowing around her, and her face soft as she gazes up at his son. He’s smiling at her, his hair like a halo around his face. Narcissa reaches up and strokes at the corner of Malfoy’s mouth and Malfoy ducks his head, a soft blush rising in his cheeks.

He looks… Harry’s heart tightens and his breathing gets hard. His breathing. Not his… Harry frowns at himself. That isn’t right. Malfoy is breath-taking, his checked shirt tight with the top two buttons open, his chinos hugging his lean thighs. Harry should be sitting there uncomfortably trying to rearrange his cock without anyone noticing.

Maybe it’s because they’re surrounded by family, including lots of small children. Although, he has had to rearrange when he’s been around kids before, especially when Malfoy wears Muggle clothes. Maybe it’s because he’s been watching Malfoy with Teddy all day, watching as they laugh together. Except… no, he’s had to rearrange then too. Maybe it’s because he’s so exhausted from their non-work… yeah, Harry can’t even finish that thought.

Malfoy lifts his head, his shining eyes meeting Harry’s immediately and Harry feels dizzy. The corner of Malfoy’s lips quirk into a crooked smile and he tilts his head, looking at Harry through his eyelashes. His tongue sticks out slightly, running along his lip, and Harry’s eyes follow it, unable to take his eyes off the movement, unable to take his eyes off the man. He’s hot, his fingers tingling and his pulse is so fast he can feel it in his ears.

And then Narcissa leans up, whispering something in Malfoy’s ear and he blushes harder, looking away and ending the moment

\-----

“Here.” Malfoy flops down next to Harry a little while later, still managing to be graceful doing it, and hands him a plate of food. Harry takes it without thinking, not really looking down at the plate. He’d just been thinking about getting some food, but standing up from his place on the floor watching as Teddy plays with one of his new toys, waving it at a pouting Dominique, just seemed like too much effort.

“Can you believe he’s nine?” Malfoy mutters next to him and Harry’s throat tightens. Nine. His little boy, who isn’t really his little boy, is nine. He tries to think about what he thought his life would be like, when the war had ended. He hadn’t had much time to think about it growing up, but after the war there had been time, so much time. And then the time had seemed too much and Harry had tried to stop thinking about what was going to happen to him. He was never very good at following plans anyway. “Hey… Potter…” Malfoy’s voice startles him and he rubs his hand over his face.

“Sorry…” Harry mumbles and looks down at his plate. His eyes get wide and he stops for a minute. The plate is piled with all his favourite things. Juicy chicken legs and barbeque beef Hula Hoops, flamin’ hot Monster Munch and mini sausages, Party Rings, Jaffa Cakes, French Fancies. There’s even a slice of treacle tart, nestled amongst all the other things. Had he ever mentioned to Malfoy that he likes these things? He looks back up at Malfoy who is eating a beigel with cream cheese and smoked salmon, his plate filled with salad and olives and other, sensible grown up things. “Uh…” he stutters and Malfoy looks over at him.

“Are you ok, Potter? Did I forget something?” he frowns, gesturing to Harry plate and Harry shakes his head vigorously.

“No… no, this is perfect…” Harry mumbles, looking down and picking up a Monster Munch and popping it into his mouth. He sighs as his mouth fills with the strong tang, the crisp disintegrating on his tongue. Brilliant. He loves proper home cooked food, just like they had at Hogwarts, but there’s something special about Monster Munch.

“How can you eat that?” Malfoy sneers, his voice holding no malice at all, “it isn’t food.” Harry swallows and eats another, thoughtfully chewing.

“Have you ever tried one?” he asks and Malfoy’s nose scrunches up.

“You know that I haven’t.” Malfoy takes another delicate bite of his beigel and leans back on one arm. Harry picks up a Monster Munch and holds it out to Malfoy, wiggling it a little as Malfoy pretends to ignore it. “Potter, I am not eating that.”

“Go on…” Harry goads and Malfoy raises one eyebrow. They stare at each other, the air crackling around them, voices in the background fading into nothing. Malfoy sighs, his breath tickling over Harry’s face, and leans forward, wrapping his lips around the crisp and removing it delicately from Harry’s fingers. He chews thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving Harry’s and Harry feels his heart tighten. Something tugs in his stomach and he finds himself leaning forward.

“Presents!” Teddy shouts, barrelling into Harry and Malfoy, almost knocking their food off their plates.

\-----

Hermione finds him in the kitchen getting him and Malfoy a drink. He definitely needs one after the hour long present opening. He knows she’s there before he even turns around, his neck prickling. He turns slowly, clutching the drinks in his hands. He has no idea what she’s going to say, but he can guarantee she’s going to be right.

“So you and Draco bought Teddy a joint present,” she states, her eyebrow raised and her mouth twitched into a cruel smirk. Ok, maybe not that cruel. Maybe just… teasing. And then her words hit him and he frowns. Of course they bought him a joint present. Else he would have ended up with two new training brooms and two trips to see Charlie on the reserve in the summer. That would have been ridiculous.

“Um… yeah?” Harry asks, not really sure what she’s getting at. She stares at him for a moment and he think about moving. Maybe he can go and find Malfoy and give him his drink. He’s probably thirsty. Maybe he’ll come and save Harry from Hermione.

“Kind of coupley don’t you think?” She carries on staring at him, her eyes intense and swirling. Harry feels the pressure in the back of his neck.

“No. I don’t think. It made sense to buy presents together. We wanted to get the same things for him,” Harry shrugs. He needs his drink to deal with Hermione. Because, sure, she’s mostly right. But this time she is completely wrong. Absolutely. Harry and Malfoy buy joint presents for people all the time.

“You know who buys joint presents?” Hermione asks, her mouth stretched wide.

“People who have similar present ideas–“

“Couples,” Hermione looks smug and Harry groans, shaking his head and moving to slide past her, “Fine. Don’t believe me.”

“I won’t,” Harry mumbles, taking a sip of his drink and letting the alcohol flow through him. Ignoring Hermione’s look, he heads into the garden to help Teddy with his practice broom and to talk to Malfoy about their trip in the summer. Their completely platonic trip, where there is a potential for having sex, but it’s mainly about letting Teddy see a real life dragon. Absolutely nothing to do with them being a couple. Not that they are. Damn it, Hermione!

\-----

“Why did I have to come to this?” Harry scowls, looking around the room. Every ex-Slytherin and their families are here. Blaise turns and gives him a wink. He rolls his eyes but grins at Blaise. Trust Blaise to flirt with him at his own mum’s wedding. Although, with the amount of weddings his mum’s had it makes sense that he’d want to have a little fun. Because he has to be there. It’s his mum’s wedding. Unlike Harry. He turns to glare at Malfoy. “Malfoy?”

“Because I needed to bring a date, and you’re the closest I have at the moment,” Malfoy whispers, his arm sliding around Harry’s waist, hidden by Harry’s smart robes. Harry tries to ignore the way heat radiates from Malfoy’s hand, leaning in slightly.

“Couldn’t you have just gone and picked someone up?” Harry hisses and he feels rather than hears Malfoy sigh. Fuck, he can practically hear Malfoy rolling his eyes.

“To bring to a wedding? I think you’ve underestimated the situation, Potter.” Malfoy’s voice is too loud. Too fucking obvious. Harry smiles apologetically at the person next to him.

“It’s just a wedding…” he says, bending his head to try and avoid any knowing glances.

“Indeed. The single most romantic place possible,” Malfoy says, like he’s making sense. He isn’t. Malfoy’s fingers start drawing circles in Harry’s side and Harry bites the inside of his cheek, the pain distracting him from the way Malfoy’s fingers are sending jolts of excitement to Harry’s cock. He shuffles slightly, trying to slip from Malfoy’s clutch, but Malfoy follows him on the bench, their legs pressed together. At the front of the hall, Blaise’s mum looks up at her new husband as the officiant talks to everyone about the importance of love. Harry breathes heavily through his nose, glancing around to make sure no one has noticed that they’re talking throughout a wedding. Everyone’s attention seems to be on the front. Thank fuck , because Malfoy is definitely up to something.

“So why did you bring me again?” Harry groans. Quietly. Blaise’s mum is repeating something. Harry isn’t paying enough attention to know what. Malfoy presses against him, his breath tickling Harry’s ear.

“Because I know that you won’t get any ideas when I tell you that once the ceremony is over I plan on taking you into the cloakroom and sucking your cock until you’re begging for me to fuck you.”

“Malfoy!” Harry exclaims. A few of the people nearest to them turn around and glare at him. He nods at them, pulling an apologetic grimace. Blaise turns and gives him a look before turning back to the front and shaking his head. Blaise’s new step-dad starts repeating things and everyone settles back in their chairs. Fucking Malfoy.

“I’m going to run my tongue along your cock, taking you as deep as I can…” Malfoy’s words rush through Harry and he shuffles on his seat, his cock starting to harden just from listening to the roughness in Malfoy’s voice, images bombarding his head.

“What are you doing?” Harry mumbles, his eyes scanning the room. Someone is going to notice. Shit, someone is going to notice.

“I’m telling you how I’m going to run my hands up your thighs until I’m stroking your balls, rolling them around in my hand as I suck and lick at your cock. Your perfect fucking cock.” Harry closes his eyes, unable to stop himself imagining Malfoy on his knees, a position he is never in. His cock presses painfully against the zip of his trousers and his head empties of everything. Fuck. This is so wrong. There are so many people. They are at a wedding. This is so, so wrong. He can’t do this. He’s Harry Potter. If anyone found out, the Prophet would have a field day. Fuck.

“Malfoy… this is a wedding…” His cock throbs at the thought of Malfoy’s lips around it. He almost never does that. Maybe once since they’ve started fucking. And that was only because Harry begged, literally. Blaise moves to the front of the room to give a reading. Harry’s already heard it. Apparently Blaise uses the same one at every wedding. Malfoy presses against him, tightening his hold on Harry’s hip

“Indeed, and how many of these do you think I’ve been to? So just sit there and think about how I’m going to conjure some lube, running my fingers over your hole before sliding the tip of my finger into you as I hold you in place, twirling my tongue around the head of your cock.” Harry can hear the smirk in Malfoy’s voice. The wanker. His cock is so hard, Malfoy’s words sound dirty, wrong, naughty. A thrill runs through Harry, the sort of thrill he’s tried to squash for years. He tries to focus on ignoring it. Malfoy’s tongue flicks out, running along the shell of Harry’s ear and a moan escapes Harry’s lips.

“Please… Malfoy…” Harry whines, his hips giving an involuntary thrust at the thought of being opened, prepared. Shit. So wrong.

“I’m going to open you up slowly, working you with three fingers, brushing against your prostate as I suck, listening to those filthy sounds you make.” Malfoy’s hand starts to move lower, cupping Harry’s arse as his words slide through him.

“Malfoy…” Fuck, he sounds breathless. That’s a bad thing. Wedding. Right. No. Wrong. Fuck.

“And then, when you’re loose and wet and begging, I’m going to pick you up and press you against the wall, pounding into you. You’re going to want to scream, to moan, but you won’t be able to. You’ll have to keep quiet as I wrap my hand around your cock and pump as I move in you. I’m going to press my lips to yours and swallow those moans. I’m not going to stop, you’re going to be begging me to let you come. And then, just at that point where people are starting to wonder where we are, you’re going to spill all over us as I fill you with my spunk.”

“I now pronounce you man and wife! You may kiss the bride,” the officiant declares and everyone starts to cheer. Harry turns to Malfoy, taking in the sly quirk of his lips and the lust blown eyes.

“Cloakroom, now,” he growls, taking Malfoy’s hand and disappearing from the room.

\-----

“Malfoy…” Harry starts tentatively. They’re naked, in his bed, splayed out, legs intertwined, completely sated. It probably isn’t time for talking. Talking might make Malfoy realise that he’s falling asleep in Harry’s bed and then he’ll leave. Not that that’s a problem. That’s the arrangement after all. But in these moments, when everything else in the world is quiet, Harry thinks that maybe, he could talk to Malfoy about anything. Could… maybe… no. He gives Malfoy’s foot a wiggle with his and Malfoy jerks slightly.

“Hmm?” he asks, taking a deep breath and shuffling to get comfortable, his legs still twisted with Harry’s. Harry tries to gather the words in his mind. It’s probably best to think about what he’s going to say before he says it. The room stills and he knows Malfoy is probably drifting back to sleep. He clears his throat, wiggling his legs a little before taking a deep breath.

“What was it like; growing up knowing you’d probably be sorted into Slytherin?” he asks, not really sure if he should. It’s a period of their lives that they’ve never talked about before, not really. They’ve hashed out what happened at school, what happened during the war, what happened afterwards. But they’ve never talked about their childhoods.

“Fuck, you’re chatty tonight…” Malfoy grumbles and Harry grimaces to himself. He shouldn’t have brought it up.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. The air hangs between them, heavy and awkward. Harry knows that Malfoy has his eyes open, without having to look at him. His breathing isn’t as heavy as when he’s falling asleep. Harry feels his lips twitch at the memory of Malfoy falling asleep on the sofa for those few months he lived with Harry. Except it had been a little different then. He’d been gaunt, unhappy, exhausted from Auror training and looking for a flat. He looks better now. Stronger. Less pointy, still chiselled.

“It was… difficult,” Malfoy’s voice is so quiet Harry thinks maybe he misheard, “Not at the time, but as I got older. By the time I was at Hogwarts I realised that the worst thing I could do in my father’s eyes was disappoint him. And…” he swallows, his voice cracking slightly, “And I really didn’t want to disappoint him. There was a lot of pressure. And as you know, I didn’t deal with that very well.” He tries to make his voice light at the end, but Harry knows him so he reaches over and takes Malfoy’s hand with his, prepared for it to be snatched away. It isn’t.

“At least you knew you were loved,” Harry murmurs, the skin on the back of his neck tingling, his insides squirming uncomfortably. He was loved, but maybe it wasn’t the best thing in the world to be loved by Lucius Malfoy.

“Hmm…” Malfoy doesn’t sound sure and Harry’s heart feels like it’s cracking. He coughs, forcing the tears back, his eyes stinging from them.

“I… uh… I didn’t have that.” For once in their life it’s not a competition. Harry wants Malfoy to know. Wants to tell him. He wants to tell him everything, about the Dursleys and the cupboard and the school and the accidental magic and his parents. Everything. Everything that only Ron and Hermione know.

“Pressure?” Malfoy asks.

“Love.” Harry’s voice is flat, heavy and he takes a deep breath. Long fingers squeeze against his hand and he lets out the breath in one long, shuddery movement. “My aunt and uncle… they didn’t like magic. I didn’t even really know I was a wizard until Hagrid came and told me. They… they weren’t very nice…”

“I know,” Malfoy breathes and Harry’s head whips round to look at him. Malfoy’s shimmering eyes are on his, small wrinkles forming between his eyebrows where he’s frowning. His mouth is drawn down, his pink lips almost too thin, and he looks concerned and… something else. Something Harry thinks he recognises. Malfoy knows. But…

“What?” He asks, his voice softer than he thought it would come out. Malfoy glances down before looking straight in Harry’s eye, pinning him there. A faint blush rises in his neck and cheeks, staining the porcelain skin.

“I know. About the cupboard and the cooking and the general child abuse.” He sounds, angry. But not with Harry, which is a novelty. Harry frowns and he shrugs. “I overheard Hermione and Weasley talk about it once…” he sounds apologetic and Harry can’t find it in him to care that Hermione and Ron were talking about it, or that Malfoy overheard. Of course he did. Because Harry’s life wouldn’t be his without someone overhearing something about him they shouldn’t.

“Oh,” he says, nodding. Malfoy stares at him, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of Harry’s hand. Harry’s mouth is dry as he stares into the swirling pool of grey, somehow finding them grounding and safe despite their movement.

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy whispers, and Harry knows he doesn’t mean about overhearing. He shakes his head a little, his hair scratching against the pillow.

“It’s not your fault–“

“You still shouldn’t have had to have that as your home, and then the Dark Lord trying to kill you, and then me at school.” Malfoy’s voice is strong, serious, firm, and Harry tries to swallow the lump in his throat. No. He shouldn’t have had that. Fuck, his childhood was fucked. His adult life is proving to be much better. He gives Malfoy a little smile, rolling so that their faces are closer together.

“You did make everything a little shit,” he teases and Malfoy’s lips quirk, the rest of his face staying completely still and serious. He brings his free hand to Harry’s face, brushing his hair away from his forehead.

“Have I made up for it?” he sighs. Harry’s heart tightens, his stomach twisting, his limbs heavy and his head light. Has Malfoy made up for it? He leans forward, pressing a light kiss to the other man’s lips before pulling back and resting their foreheads together.

“More than you know.”

\-----

“Where is he?” Hermione’s voice is sharp and efficient as she walks up to him, her lime green robes billowing around her. Harry looks at her, his brain whirring, his eyes itchy. Fuck. How could he be so stupid? It was supposed to be a small, ridiculous case. How could they have becomes so… so… complacent? How could he have let this happen? He continues his pacing. Why won’t they let him in? That’s his partner. He needs to be there. Hermione stops in front of him and he blinks, tears running down his face.

“He’s in there… he’s… he’s…” Harry tries to point at the door where they’d taken Malfoy. He can still hear Malfoy’s screams, although that might be his memory. Good, another set of screams to add to the ones he can’t ever forget. His hands shake, and his teeth start to chatter. When did it get so cold? It was cold in the empty warehouse. Malfoy will be cold. His chest tightens, his limbs heavy, his breathing hard. He can’t breathe. His skin prickles and he tries to hold back the sob that crashes out of his mouth.

“Shh, Harry, it’s ok.” Hermione takes his hands in hers. They’re warm. He gazes at her, grounding himself in her eyes, in her soft voice, soothing him. His hand tightens on hers. Why didn’t he save Malfoy? How could he have been so slow? He’s never that slow. He tries to take a deep breath, tries to calm down, but he can’t stop.

“There’s so much blood, Hermione, so much…” His teeth start chattering again, and Hermione runs her thumb over his hand in small circles, not letting him look away.

“I know, sweetie. But you need to let me go so I can go and help him…” Hermione’s voice is strong. She has a strong voice. Malfoy’s voice is strong. Fuck… he has to be ok. He has to… he can’t die.

“I haven’t seen that much blood since… since I…” A sob rips from Harry’s throat and a fresh wave of tears drip down his cheeks.

“Ok. You need to sit here. I’m going to send for Ron.” She leads him over to a chair and takes out her wand, producing her otter and sending it off with a message for Ron. Harry knows it’s about him, but he can’t focus on anything but the moans and shouts coming from the room where Malfoy is.

“I could have killed him. If Snape wasn’t there he’d be dead… and I… I would never–”

“Harry.” Hermione’s voice snaps him back to the present. “Draco is not dead. Snape was there. And now you need to let go of my hand so that I can go and do my job and save his life.” Harry nods and lets go of her hand, his whole body numb as images of Malfoy lying on the floor covered in blood fills his mind. He did that then, and he didn’t stop it now. He should have stopped it. He should have done more.

“Why didn’t I stop it?” he whispers and Hermione growls.

“Harry! You need to stop. Draco will be fine. Ron will be here in a minute. Just… don’t go anywhere. Ok?” Harry nods and she regards him for a moment before sweeping into the room and leaving Harry in the waiting area, his pulse in his throat and his stomach in knots.

\-----

“Knock, knock.”

Harry looks up to see Malfoy leant against the doorframe, his shirt tight across his chest, his trousers perfectly fitted, and his eyes sparkling. He looks healthy and whole and Harry’s chest hurts as relief washes through him. He jumps up from his desk, knocking over a pot of ink and launches himself across the room, his heart pounding and his head whirring, needing to be near Malfoy in some way. Needing to touch him, to prove to himself that Malfoy is alive.

His lips crash against Malfoy’s as he runs his hands through that silken hair, enjoying the heat of Malfoy’s skin against his. Beautiful, living heat. Malfoy squeaks, but quickly recovers, his arms sliding around Harry’s waist and pulling him closer. Malfoy’s mouth opens, his tongue twining with Harry’s, and Harry moans into it. Fuck, he tastes amazing. Sweet and warm and alive. So fucking alive.

“Well, hello to you too, Potter.” Malfoy smiles at him as he pulls away slightly, his arms still resting on Harry’s hips. Rubbing his hands over Malfoy’s chest, Harry searches for his pulse. He can feel Malfoy’s muscles under his shirt, defined and warm and… fuck it. Harry presses forward, taking Malfoy’s lips with his again, running his hands over the thick, rich material, his cock hardening. It’s not enough. He needs more. He needs to feel Malfoy alive, needs to taste him. He needs to get the fucking image of him lying on the floor surrounded by blood out of his head.

“When did they discharge you?” Harry murmurs as he moves his mouth, running his tongue along the smooth column of his neck.

“Last night.” Malfoy’s voice rolls through him, the vibrations tickling his lips and he hooks his hands around Malfoy’s neck, running his hands through the base of Malfoy’s hair, soft under his fingers.

“You didn’t come over?” He finds Malfoy’s pulse with his lips, running his tongue over it, sucking lightly. He can feel Malfoy’s pulse, alive, moving and it makes his chest ache, his stomach twisting and his cock pulse. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Gorgeous and alive. Harry releases Malfoy’s neck and starts to unbutton his shirt, moving his lips down, kissing and licking and sucking on the smooth alabaster skin. It’s so perfect, so amazing, with all his blood on the inside.

“I didn’t realise you’d want to see me…” Malfoy breathes, his hands stroking along Harry’s sides, sending shivers of excitement through Harry. Dropping to his knees, Harry starts to undo Malfoy’s trousers, running his tongue along Malfoy’s hip bone, the glorious curve of it, pointing like a fucking arrow towards his cock. Harry’s mouth starts to water as he thinks about that hard, wonderful cock, hot on his tongue.

“You’re an idiot sometimes,” Harry mumbles, nuzzling at the bulge in Malfoy’s pants. Malfoy’s long, elegant, very alive and moving fingers run through Harry’s hair, tugging lightly. Malfoy gasps as Harry pulls his cock out, licking at the head, tasting the salty sweetness of Malfoy’s pre-come. He breathes in, the warm heady smell of Malfoy making him want Malfoy more.

He opens his mouth, taking the whole of Malfoy’s cock into his mouth until he feels it bump the back of his throat, making his eyes water. He runs his tongue along the thick vein along the bottom, feeling the heat, the smooth skin. He hollows out his cheek, sucking lightly, making Malfoy moan. He starts to bob his head, sucking deeply, his fingers digging into Malfoy’s hips. He swirls his tongue around the head of Malfoy’s cock, pressing it against the slit. Saliva drips down Malfoy’s cock, and Harry wraps his hand around the base, using his spit to slick his fist as he pumps.

Malfoy’s hips start to jerk, and Harry relaxes his mouth, letting Malfoy fuck his face. Sucking as Malfoy pumps, Harry’s cock aches in his pants and his heart flutters. Malfoy is so alive, so fucking stunning. The thought that it was possible that Harry would never have been able to do this again. He sucks harder at the thought, and Malfoy starts to make the small noises in the back of his throat that Harry knows means he is close.

“Oh, fuck, Harry,” Malfoy moans, his hands tightening in Harry’s hair, before he spills all over Harry’s tongue. Harry swallows every drop, the sweet bitter tang of Malfoy’s release delicious. Harry pulls off slowly, licking the last beads from the end of Malfoy’s cock. He looks up at Malfoy, the vivid purple bruises on Malfoy’s pale skin striking.

“Never get hurt that badly again,” Harry whispers and Malfoy smiles down at him, his face soft and relaxed.

And then the door opens and Malfoy moves faster than he ever has before, tucking himself away as Harry jumps to his feet, wiping his mouth. Hermione stands at the door, her eyes slightly wide, but her lips twitching at the corner. Harry looks between her and Malfoy, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. The air is heavy, and then, after a second, Hermione starts laughing, resting against the door as she bends in half. She takes a deep breath as Malfoy comes and stands next to Harry, composed and neat.

“I’ll start planning that party,” Hermione pants as she leaves the room, leaving Harry with a raging boner and a confused Malfoy.

\-----

“So you two are…” Ron looks between Harry and Malfoy, his eyebrows in his hair, his pint clasped in his hand. Of course Hermione told Ron. Why wouldn’t she want to share the great news? And of course Ron then flipped out and demanded they go to the pub. Because what problems can’t be sorted in the pub? Harry looks at him, Ron’s awkwardness flowing over him, making his skin feel too tight and itchy.

“Uh… yeah…” He’s so hot. It’s so hot in here. Malfoy’s thigh presses against his and he tries to focus on that, and not on Ron’s icy eyes staring at him in… well, not disgust, more like confusion.

“And you’ve been…” Ron gestures between the two of them, his other hand whitening as he holds tight, “for a while?” Harry glances at Malfoy to see the blond smirking, one eyebrow raised, not a trace of a blush on his cheeks. Fucking cocky bastard. Harry groans and looks back at his flabbergasted best friend.

“Yes.”

“And are you two… uh…” Ron waves again and Harry almost whacks his head into the table.

“Oh for goodness sakes, Ron,” Hermione cuts in, clearly bored with the way that Ron is asking questions, “Are you two a couple?” she looks at them, her eyes wide and serious and Harry’s heart jumps.

“No!” He shouts. Fuck this is embarrassing. He runs his hand through his hair and looks at his friends as they wait for him to explain. Right… an explanation. He needs to explain what him and Malfoy are doing, “We’re just… what did you say, Malfoy?”

“I said–”

“Fuck buddies! That’s it!” Harry nods vigorously. Yes. That's what they are. Fuck buddies. Absolutely not a couple. Not even a little bit. Harry ignores the twist in his stomach at the thought. Probably just because of the embarrassment. Something in his chest tells him it's not, but that something can fuck off. Hermione and Ron stare at him, glancing at Malfoy and then at each other. Ron's mouth is open, no sound coming from him, for once in his life. Harry searches for Malfoy’s hand with his and finds it clamped with the other one. Hermione leans back in her chair, frowning, her eyes thoughtful. That's never a good sign. Ron coughs, clearly gaining composure and frowns.

“Fuck buddies?” he asks, his voice a little cracked.

“Yeah… buddies who fuck.” Harry frowns at him. It isn't a very complicated term to understand. Ron releases his pint, rubbing his eyes.

“Thanks for the vocabulary lesson, Harry. That’s exactly the part of this I was having problems with,” he sighs, his voice dripping sarcasm. Harry’s frown deepens and leans forward. What is Ron not getting? His brother is Charlie. Charlie hasn’t slept with the same person more than twice since he was 18.

“What are you having problems with?” he asks and Ron’s eyes get impossibly wider, a harsh red blush rising in his cheeks and clashing with his hair. He points between Harry and Malfoy, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

“You two! Having sex!” Ron’s voice reaches new levels of both volume and pitch and Harry can't help but grin. Ron’s being ridiculous. It's just sex. He looks over at Malfoy, and pulls a face. Malfoy’s smirk has disappeared and been replaced by a look of sort of blank indifference. It unnerves Harry, sending a jolt through him and making him feel a little sick, his stomach swirling and his throats tightening. Malfoy hasn't looked at him like that in years. And then Malfoy raises one eyebrow and Harry relaxes.

“Well then don’t think about it,” he sings, turning back to Ron. Ron shakes his head, clearly not getting it.

“But… you can’t spend five minutes together without arguing,” he splutters. Harry shrugs. That's true. It's also a fantastic reason to have mind-blowing sex. Not that Ron needs to know that. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Hermione scowl at the boyfriend, leaning forward slightly.

“Ron–”

“Yeah. And that’s why we aren’t dating. Like we could actually ever be a couple!” Harry cuts in, not really hearing Hermione. Because, seriously! Harry and Malfoy together as an actual, real couple would be the most fucking ludicrous idea ever. There’s absolutely no way they'll ever be anything more than friends who fuck. Ever. Ever. Harry’s throat tightens. Hermione glances at Malfoy, before turning to Harry.

“Harry–”

“Isn’t that right, Malfoy.” Harry turns and looks at the other man, his pulse painful in his fingertips, his head swimming. Malfoy pierces him with stormy grey eyes, something strange and a little terrifying flickering in them before turning cold. Harry’s eyebrows twitch into a frown. What the fuck is going on with everyone today?

“Absolutely,” Malfoy states, something wrong with his voice. His eyes flicker to Ron and Hermione and Harry sighs. That's it! He's bothered because Ron is being so fucking awkward about it. Obviously. He gives Malfoy a wink and turns back to Ron and Hermione.

“See,” he says with a satisfied nod. They look at each other for a long moment, having the sort of silent conversation that used to make Harry feel lonely, but now makes him feel warm with giddy happiness. It's so awesome to see his two best friends this happy. Hermione's eyes dart to Malfoy again and Harry’s chest tightens. He feels like he's missing something there. Something important. If she’d just keep her eyes still he could figure out what. Maybe. Glancing at Malfoy, Harry’s stomach drops. Malfoy is sat ramrod straight, his mouth set and his eyes glassy. It's… uncomfortable. Eventually Ron sighs and turns back to Harry.

“Not at all, mate. But if you’re happy, then I’m happy.” He seems resigned, his tone flat but caring and Harry’s heart swells with love for his confused best friend. He stares Ron in the eye and tries to pour his warmth and appreciation into his smile.

“Well, I’m happy.” He grins to illustrate his point.

“Alright then,” Ron says with pleasing finality, picking up his pint and taking a sip, “Remind me to Scourgify your flat next time I’m there. I don’t want to sit anywhere you two have had sex.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You haven’t been over in a couple of nights?” Harry says, looking over at where Malfoy is writing a report from the potions case. That’s the problem with big cases, there’s just so much more paperwork. Not that Harry does any of it. No one would be able to read it if he did. Malfoy swipes his hair back, but doesn’t look up. He hasn’t looked at Harry since Harry got in that morning.

“Hmm…” he mumbles, still not looking up. Harry frowns. That’s not right. They haven’t seen each other in a few days. Normally Malfoy would be horny as fuck right about now. But he’s just sitting there, doing his work. Maybe he’s fucked someone else. The thought sends a shiver through Harry and his stomach twists uncomfortably. No. He wouldn’t do that. But there is something wrong.

“You ok?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head to try to meet Malfoy’s eye. Malfoy’s jaw twitches and he takes a deep breath before going back to writing the report.

“Yes, Potter,” he hisses through his teeth and Harry’s frown deepens. Definitely not alright. Harry should try and figure out what’s wrong. He’s an Auror. He can figure it out. Except he’s worked with Malfoy for nearly six years now, and he still manages to piss him off on a nearly daily basis. He runs his hand through his hair and casts around the room for something to say. His eyes land on a manila file that he’d been given on his way into his office that morning.

“Robards sent us a new case.” He picks up the file and waves it at Malfoy. Malfoy doesn’t look up, doesn’t even pause in his writing.

“Did he?” Malfoy’s voice is clipped and low and Harry gets the impression that he’s actually angry, not just mildly annoyed. Harry takes a deep breath and holds it as he watches, not sure what to do. He hasn’t seen Malfoy this pissed off in a while, not really. Annoyed, sure. They’ve argued enough. They always argue. But this… it sends a chill through Harry. A chill that he’s being trying to ignore for the past five years. He lets out the breath and gives Malfoy a big smile that he can’t see.

“Yup. Someone has been putting Muggle traffic cones in places that Muggles definitely wouldn’t be able to reach,” he says, keeping his voice light.

“Thrilling.” Malfoy’s voice cuts through Harry, sharp and sarcastic. Harry coughs and shuffles in his seat.

“Yeah, I reckon we can get this one sorted by this afternoon and then leave for the pub early?”

“Of course you do,” Malfoy sighs. He puts his quill down a little more forcefully than normal and stands up, doing up his robes and straightening his hair. “Come on then, Potter. Let’s go.” He stalks from the room, not looking to see if Harry is following him. Shit, whatever it is that Harry’s done, it’s bad. He groans and stands to follow his very annoyed partner, wracking his brain to think about what he could have done.

\------

Malfoy is flirting with Blaise. Again. Harry grinds his teeth and watches as Malfoy leans forward, biting his lower lip and smirking up at Blaise through his eyelashes. No. Malfoy shouldn’t be flirting with Blaise. Not when he’s probably going to be fucking Harry later. Blaise laughs, his head tilting back and Harry watches as Malfoy’s eyes trail hungrily over the smooth, dark skin.

“Harry… are you paying any attention to what I’m saying?” Hermione’s voice cuts through his staring and he looks at her, pulling a face.

“Not really, Hermione,” he says, his eyes sliding back to where Malfoy is now stroking Blaise’s hand, “Sorry…” He feels Hermione’s hand resting on his shoulder and he wraps his fingers around hers, giving them a squeeze. He’s ok. He’s not pissed off in any way. Malfoy leans closer to Blaise and whispers something in his ear, and Harry’s stomach twists unpleasantly. He feels too hot, but too cold, his skin’s itchy and his throat tight.

He starts to grind his jaw as he watches Malfoy runs his fingers, his long, perfect fingers, along Blaise’s neck. Like Harry isn’t even fucking there. He downs his beer, his eyes never leaving Malfoy. Fucking Malfoy flirting with fucking Blaise. He feels sick, his head light and his fingertips buzzing as the blood pumps through them. Blaise smiles, trailing one finger along Malfoy’s strong, angular jaw and Harry feels the flare of anger in his chest. That isn’t Blaise’s jaw to touch. The same jaw that Harry has kissed and licked and marked. Who does he think he is?

“Oh, Harry…” Hermione sighs and Harry rips his eyes away from Malfoy and Blaise to look at her.

“What?” Harry asks, painfully aware of the ache in his neck from forcing himself not to look at Malfoy. Her eyes are soft and she gives him a small, sad smile.

“Do you really have to ask?” She gestures with her head and Harry turns back to look at Malfoy. Malfoy is so close to Blaise he’s practically sitting on Blaise’s lap. Harry’s stomach drops and his chest feels like it’s going to crack. He balls his fists tightly, and he feels Hermione give his shoulder a squeeze before moving away.

Malfoy says something to Blaise and stands up, moving towards the bar. Blaise watches him for a moment before turning back to the table and picking up his beer. He looks up, catching Harry’s eye and giving him a wink. Harry takes a deep breath, forcing himself to smile at Blaise. It isn’t Blaise’s fault. Blaise doesn’t know about him and Malfoy. No. This isn’t Blaise’s fault. This is Malfoy’s.

Harry stands suddenly, ignoring any looks from the rest of the table, and pushes his way through the crowd to where Malfoy is stood at the bar. Malfoy doesn’t look at him when he stops next to his elbow. The bastard.

“We need to talk,” Harry all but shouts at Malfoy, feeling the anger bubble in his stomach. The fucking wanker. Malfoy turns slowly, one eyebrow raised and Harry doesn’t know if he wants to punch him or kiss him.

“Oh, really?” Malfoy drawls and Harry growls, the rumble in his throat sticking and making his eyes water.

“Yes,” he hisses. Malfoy turns, resting against the bar and looking directly at Harry, his grey eyes piercing into Harry. Harry’s mouth dries up and he stares at the infuriating blond in front of him. Malfoy’s eyebrow stays raised, his lips twisted into a sneer. His hair is falling into his eyes, his jaw strong and sharp and Harry wants to shake him. Wants to tell him that there is something wrong with their relationship. Wants to tell him that Malfoy can’t flirt with Blaise, with anyone because he’s Harry’s. The thought catches Harry and he feels his body shake as a shiver runs through him.

“So talk,” Malfoy spits and Harry stares at him, his eyes wide.

“I… you… what…”

“Good talk,” Malfoy snarls. Harry growls at him, grabbing his arm and Apparating away.

\-----

“What the fuck was that?” Harry spits the second they land in his living room. Draco looks dazed for all of one second before turning on Harry, his eyes on fire. He steps forward and Harry feels a rush of something twisting in his stomach.

“What was what, Potter?” He demands, standing tall, his chest puffed out. Harry stares at him, his mouth open. His heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his neck and there’s a horrible prickly tension at the base of his spine. He knows this feeling. This feeling he’s been controlling since he first left school. Adrenaline pumps through him and he doesn’t stop himself, his magic crackling from his fingers. He stalks forward and shoves Draco in the chest.

“You know exactly what,” he hisses, his head throbbing with anger. His stomach is tight as Draco looks down at him, looking at him the way he did for years at school.

“Clearly not.” His voice is clipped and Harry wants to shake him, hit him, curse him. Wants to do anything to make Draco react.

“Well, have a fucking think then!” Harry screams and Draco stares at him, still not moving. Not moving like he doesn’t even care! Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe that’s the problem. “Maybe you just want to go and fuck him instead!” His hands shake and he moves away from Draco, needing space in case he actually hits the git in the face.

“What? Seriously, Potter?” Draco’s eyebrow raises in a harsh arch. Harry looks at him, not really sure what he’s supposed to say. Of course he’s serious. Draco spent the entire fucking evening flirting with Blaise fucking Zabini. Eye-fucking him at every opportunity. Biting his fucking lip.

“Yes! Seriously!” His voice is too high, his whole body thrumming with energy and he can’t stop himself. Maybe he’s being ridiculous. Maybe he should calm down. Maybe… he looks at Draco, with his perfect fucking hair and his perfect fucking eyes and his perfect fucking mouth.

Fuck it.

Harry picks up a glass that he left on the table and chucks it at the wall, that satisfying smash reverberating around the room. Good. Destruction. This is what he missed. This is why he started controlling himself in the first place. Because every time he got angry he couldn’t control himself. Well, fuck that. He’s not controlling himself any more.

“You think I want to fuck Blaise?” Draco moves swiftly, putting himself in front of Harry and stopping him from picking anything else up. He stares at Harry with those fucking perfectly grey eyes, shining like mercury. Harry could look into those eyes forever.

“Don’t you?” he asks, his voice still too high, too loud and Malfoy snorts.

“Not particularly, no.” He looks at Harry, something crossing his face that Harry knows he could decipher if he actually put the effort in. But fuck Draco. If he’s just going to leave Harry anyway what’s the point of putting effort in? Harry tries to slide around him but Draco steps to the side, blocking Harry’s path and keeping him stuck where he is. “Harry–”

“Well then why flirt with him all evening? Right in front of me, like I’m not even there!” Harry can feel the tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. Tears of anger. Definitely not tears of hurt. Draco’s face closes off and he stands taller, the two inches he has on Harry suddenly seeming like a lot more.

“We aren’t a couple, Harry. You don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t flirt with.” Draco’s voice is too… too something and Harry can’t help himself. His mind is swimming, he can’t hear anything but a rushing and all he can think of is Draco, bending Blaise over his desk, their desk. His throat feels too tight and he tries to take a breath.

“We aren’t… we…” He stutters, not really sure of what he’s supposed to say. That aren’t a couple. They work together, and talk together, and sleep together, but they aren’t a couple. They’re just… fuck buddies. He feels suddenly cold and he stares at Draco, his mouth open.

“Exactly.” Draco looks sad, not smug. “But if this is the reaction you’re going to have every time I flirt with someone else maybe things between us need to change.” His words hit Harry like a fucking Bludger and Harry’s legs wobble. He wants to break up. No, they aren’t a couple. They can’t break up. He wants to stop having sex with each other. He wants them to go back to just being… what? Friends? Colleagues? Harry shakes his head.

“What… what do you mean?” he stutters. His mouth is too dry, the room spinning around him, his arms and legs suddenly very, very heavy. Draco sighs and runs his hand through his hair. That hand, that’s stroked and held and caressed Harry so many times over the past couple of months. He looks at Harry, his eyes shining with something that Harry doesn’t want to register. This is it. The end.

“I mean our current arrangement is clearly not working,” Draco sighs and Harry holds back the choking sob. No. No. He can’t end this. This is too good. He can’t. Harry searches through his emotions, trying to find something that doesn’t feel like he’s dying. Anger bubbles in his stomach and he holds onto it, brings it closer, his mind fogging with it.

“Fine!” He screams, shoving Draco back, “Fuck off! Go fuck whoever you want!” Draco tries to reach out and Harry steps back, unsheathing his wand.

“Harry–”

“Or stay here. I’m leaving,” he spits, turning on the spot and Apparating away.

\-----

He lands in the middle of Hermione and Ron’s living room, knocking his shin painfully against their coffee table. Since when had they moved that there? He looks around the room and realises it’s exactly the same as it’s always been. A little messier, what with Hermione working double shifts and Ron not being able to tidy up after himself. But the table hasn’t moved. Which means that he Apparated into it all on his own. He growls and gives the table a little kick before turning to search for his best friends.

“Hermione! I need you!” he shouts, stomping through the hall towards the kitchen. The rational part of his brain says that she might still be at the pub. The irrational part of his brain is annoyed about that. He bursts into the kitchen to find it depressingly empty. Ok, they’re clearly still at the pub. Harry takes his wand and summons his Patronus. The stag stands in front of him, waiting for its message. “Hermione. I am in your kitchen.”

The stag gallops off and Harry frowns into the relative darkness. With a flick of his wand he turns the lights on and starts searching through the fridge, looking for a beer. There must be one somewhere. Ron would never leave their fridge this empty. He manages to find a bottle at the back of the fridge and pulls it out, using his wand to pop the cap off. He sits at their kitchen table and waits for the familiar pop of Apparition.

“What’s happened?” Hermione says the moment she appears. Ron pops in behind her and frowns at the beer that Harry is drinking.

“That’s mine.” Ron says, pulling out a chair and slumping down into it. Harry grimaces and takes a sip, trying to let the alcohol take over his brain. And his heart. Why is his heart hurting? His heart should not be hurting. So, he had an argument with Draco. Fuck, when did he start thinking of him as Draco? Fuck.

“I need it.” He looks at Ron for a moment and Ron shrugs, settling into his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

“Fine,” Ron sighs and Hermione scowls at him.

“What happened?” She asks again, moving to kneel in front of Harry. Harry looks down at her, recognising the position from all the other times she’s tried to comfort him.

“Draco fucking Malfoy is what happened!” Harry shouts and Hermione’s eyes flicker to Ron before Ron nudges a chair towards her with his toes. Harry glares at the two of them and they look at him with patient, open faces. “Fine! You know, you two are so much worse since you’ve been living together.”

“That’s been six years, mate,” Ron points out and Harry frowns at him. Has it really? It must be… The war’s been over for nine years. He’s been alone for eight. He’s been an Auror for seven. Shit, time moves fast.

“Right… yeah…” he takes another swig of the beer.

“So what happened with Draco?” Hermione asks in a soft voice. Harry huffs and finishes off the beer, the bubbles making his nose itch and his eyes water. Definitely the bubbles.

“I don’t know… I just… one minute we’re fine and then suddenly he’s fucking flirting with Blaise and I don’t know what happened to me, I just felt kind of sick and… I don’t know I just… and then I shouted at him and he told me he wanted to end our… whatever he have. Had. I don’t know. And so I left him in my flat and came here…” he takes a shuddery breath and realises with a jolt that he’s crying. Because he’s drunk. Not because of Draco… definitely not…

“Oh sweetie…” Hermione says, her hand resting on Harry’s knee. He looks at her, her brown eyes shining with something that sends a wave of sadness over him, before she glances at Ron. Ron coughs, drawing Harry’s attention to him, and leans forward on the table.

“Have you ever thought, mate, that maybe this thing with Malfoy was never that casual?”

“What?” Harry frowns, the tears drying on his cheeks.

“Well… I dunno,” Ron shrugs, glancing at Hermione before taking a deep breath and continuing, “things between you and Malfoy have never been casual, have they? You didn’t just dislike each other, you actively hated each other. You didn’t just make up, you got wasted and ended up living together for, like, a month until he found his own place. You didn’t just become colleagues, you sort of became dependant on each other. I just think… you shagging, or whatever, I don’t think that it was ever just sex for you two. I don’t think it could have been…”

Harry stares at his friend, his mind whirring, his heart pounding. His stomach twists as the words sink in. No. The feelings that Harry has had for Draco could never be called casual. But this… this was. Right? That’s what they said… that’s what happened. Wasn’t it?

Images flash into Harry’s mind. Draco lying on Harry’s bed talking about his childhood. Draco making breakfast for them in the morning even though he wasn’t supposed to stay over. Draco saying his name, not ‘Potter’ his actual, real name. Draco lying covered in blood. Draco buying him coffee from Theo’s place. Draco filling in all their paperwork. Draco going along with all the stupid cases they get just because. Harry’s heart clenches, his limbs suddenly feeling heavy, as realisation shoots through him.

Fuck.

“I’m in love with Draco?” he asks, looking between his two best friends. They look at each other before looking back at him.

“Yeah, Harry, I think you are,” Hermione says, giving him a small smile, “Listen. I know you don’t like breaking the rules, not anymore, not since the war. And I know that lots of people died because you did. But this isn’t one of those situations. Whatever rules you think are stopping you being with him, maybe it’s time to break them.”

\-----

Harry Apparates into Draco’s flat, hoping that he’s there. He wasn’t at Harry’s, so hopefully he’s at home. Hopefully he hasn’t gone back to the pub to wallow. Or to shag Blaise. That would be bad. That would be very, very bad.

“Harry?” A soft voice makes him spin on the spot and he stares at the man he’s absolutely in love with. Draco is sat on his sofa, his legs bent in front of him and his arms wrapped around them. He looks a mess, his eyes red and puffy, his hair flying in all directions as if he’d been running his hands through it. Harry’s heart twists, a large lump forming in his throat, and he moves towards Draco. Draco tightens his arms slightly, but doesn’t shuffle back.

“Draco…” Harry breathes, clenching his fists by his side. He did this to Draco. He did this with his stupid stupidness. How could he not have seen that they were more than just fuck buddies? How could he not have noticed that they were together, that whatever this was, whatever it had been, was more than just sex?

“Go away, Harry…” Draco says, burying his head into his knees. He looks so small, like he’s lost all his confidence and Harry doesn’t want to look him. He thinks back to all those times that Draco has smirked at him, one eyebrow raised, cocky and full of himself. He’s such a handsome man. How could Harry have even thought that he wouldn’t fall in love with him? Harry shuffles slightly closer.

“No… Draco–”

“You made it very clear that you wanted nothing to do with me. So leave.” Draco’s head snaps up, his eyes flashing in anger. Harry’s chest tightens, his head whirring as he tries to think of what he could say to make Draco listen to him. Draco glares as he inches closer.

“I was wrong. I thought… I thought you wanted us to be over…” he stutters, not really sure what he’s supposed to say. But then, when have his plans ever worked out that well, really? He spent his whole time at Hogwarts trying to plan, and it never worked. He always had to lean on Hermione and Ron. And then he spent his entire adult life trying to follow the rules. Trying to keep things ordered. But it never fucking works.

“Of course you would. Because you didn’t stop for one second to listen to what I was actually saying!” Draco shouts, his arms still wrapped protectively around his legs. Harry nods, shuffling to sit on the coffee table, facing the love of his life.

“I know. I–”

“All I was trying to do was do what we said we would when we first started sleeping together. I was trying to talk to you about our relationship,” Draco snaps and Harry nods, holding his hands out. Draco looked at him, his eyes losing their fire, and his lips twitching in thought. Harry takes a deep breath, trying to make his heart slow down.

“I know! I’m sorry. I really am. I thought you wanted us to be over and I… I panicked. I just… I can’t lose you,” Harry whispers. Draco’s eyes widen slightly.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asks, not moving. Harry kneels in front of him, placing his hands either side of Draco’s legs. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch Draco. He’s never really thought about touching him before. He’s always just… done it. Draco looks at him, his eyes wide and shining. He looks so beautiful, even when he looks like complete shit. Fuck, Harry loves him.

“I came to tell you I’m an idiot,” Harry rushes out, moving to get closer to Draco, resting his chin on Draco’s pointy knees. Draco moves back slightly, raising one eyebrow and Harry feels his stomach twist. Ok, not being pushed away. Definitely got to be a good thing. Draco watches him, his eyes flickering over Harry’s face. Harry moves his hands to Draco’s feet, running his thumb over the delicate bones. He loves Draco’s feet. They’re so elegant and beautiful, long with skin so translucent you can see the pale blue veins through it.

“Continue…” Draco finally says, his lip twitching and his eyes sparkling. Harry lets out a sigh, giving Draco a smile.

“I am the biggest idiot in the world,” Harry says, sliding his arms around Draco, his hands stroking against the soft curve of Draco’s butt, “No. I’m more than that! I’m just the most dense, stupid, blind fool that ever existed. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve to be loved by you. But I need you. I love you, so much. And I have been… beyond stupid. I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.”

Draco stares at him, so still that Harry wonders if something has happened to him. He holds his breath, his fingers numb and his head spinning. Draco’s eyes don’t leave his, the grey swirling as they pierce into Harry. Harry takes a deep breath, his hands tightening slightly.

“Draco?” he breathes. Draco’s lips quirk into a smile a second before he presses forward, taking Harry’s lips with his. Harry’s breath catches in his throat. Draco’s lips are soft against his, fitted perfectly against Harry’s and Harry knows he’ll never want another person’s lips. Harry melts into Draco, leaning closer, needing to feel Draco next to him. Draco’s legs open, dropping down to the floor either side of Harry and Harry leans up. Draco’s tongue runs along Harry’s lower lip and Harry opens for him, their tongues twisting together as the kiss deepens.

Draco’s hands slide into Harry’s hair, holding Harry closer and Harry feels rather than hears the moan that escapes from the back of his throat. He needs this, he needs Draco holding him close, kissing him like he needs it to breathe. He moves his arms, sliding them around Draco to bring him closer. He climbs up onto the sofa, straddling Draco, feeling his long, lean legs between his. Draco’s hands move to Harry’s hips, securing him, grounding him, letting Harry know that he belongs to Draco. Like he could belong to anyone else. Sliding his fingers through Draco’s hair, the soft strands running through his fingers, Harry feel completely safe. Light, warm happiness bubbles in his chest and throat and he doesn’t know how he stops himself from laughing at how right he feels.

Draco starts to rock against him, their soft cocks gently rubbing against each other, steadily growing harder in their trousers as their tongues stroke. Harry tightens his hold, needing to be closer to Draco, needing him, all of him. Harry moves his hips, rolling them against Draco, his breaths coming in hard pants against Draco’s mouth. Draco mewls, sending shivers of desire through Harry, his cock straining against his flies.

“I need you. Please,” he whines into Draco’s mouth, spurring Draco on. Draco reaches for his wand and banishes their clothes. Harry groans at the sudden heat of Draco’s skin against his, the contact making his heart hammer in his chest. Draco mutters something against his lips and Harry moans as he feels a slick finger brush between his cheeks, circling his entrance. Draco presses the tip of his finger into Harry and Harry can’t breathe.

He pushes back against Draco’s finger, needing more of him, needing to feel completely connected to him. He mutters encouragement against Draco’s lips, feeling Draco’s breath against his as they move. Draco’s cock is heavy and thick against Harry’s stomach, leaking and hot as it rubs against Harry’s. Fuck, he needs that in him. He wants it in him.

“More, please, Draco,” Harry cries, his hips thrusting against Draco, pushing his finger deeper into Harry, “I want you in me. I… please, Draco, please.” Draco nods and Harry opens his eyes to stare into Draco’s as Draco opens him. Slipping a second and then a third finger into Harry, he starts to scissor them, preparing Harry. Harry growls, leaning up and forcing Draco’s fingers to slip from him. Draco moans but Harry takes his cock, lining it up with his slick hole, and sliding down onto it in one fluid, slow movement.

“Harry,” Draco pants as they cling to each other, Harry adjusting to feeling full, feeling complete, his arse deliciously stretched and his chest clenching with love. After a moment the slight pain becomes intense pleasure and Harry knows he needs to move. Keeping his hands tangled in Draco’s hair, his forearms resting on Draco’s shoulders he starts to move, rising up before sinking back down onto Draco’s cock. “Fuck… Harry,” Draco moans, his eyes never leaving Harry’s as his head lolls forward, his forehead resting against Harry’s

“Draco,” Harry says, enjoying the way the name feels in his mouth. They move together, rocking and breathing, their eyes never leaving the others’. Soon Harry’s balls are tightening and Draco shifts his hips slightly, the end of his cock brushing against Harry’s prostate. He presses forward, his lips brushing against Draco’s as he comes, hot spunk landing on his chest and splattering against Draco’s, a pang of white heat running through his as he moans Draco’s name. A moment later Draco stills, his arms tight around Harry as he spills inside him, shaking through his orgasm.

They sit together on the sofa, panting into each other’s mouths, feeling the heat of each other. This is all Harry needs. Just Draco. But it’s more than that. This is all Harry wants. Draco leans back and looks at Harry, his eyes glassy and his lips pink and bee stung from kisses. He looks relaxed and happy and Harry is overcome with a wave of excited nausea. Draco looks for a moment longer before leaning forward again and pressing his forehead to Harry’s.

“I love you, Harry Potter.”

“I love you too.”

\-----

“I have a wonderful idea,” Draco exclaims, his perfect eyebrows drawn low and Harry smirks at him. He looks so out of place standing in the middle of a peat bog in South Wales in a pair of wellies that Hermione has managed to convince him to wear. His hair is falling into his face and his cheeks are rosy from the effort of walking around the bog looking for a missing broomstick.

“What’s your wonderful idea?” Harry asks, moving closer to his partner, squinting at the floor. It has to be here somewhere. This is where the owner of said broomstick Apparated from. What are the odds that they walked through the bog before deciding to just get the fuck out of there? The problem is that it’s a wooden broom made of sticks in the middle of a bog.

“You buy yourself your own fucking chair and let Robards have the good one and we stop getting assigned shitty fucking cases where I have to stand out in the fucking countryside getting cold and wet,” Draco snaps and Harry glances up at him, unable to stop smirking.

“But where’s the fun in that?” He watches as Draco crosses his arms over his chest, looking very annoyed. Harry considers telling him how attractive he looks when he’s annoyed, but it’ll probably make him more annoyed and then Harry won’t get laid later. He takes a step closer, scanning the floor as Draco glares at him.

“The fun is in not pissing off your boyfriend any more than you already have, you fucking childish dickhead,” Draco spits. Harry looks up at him and moves closer. Ok, he’s really pissed off now. Maybe Harry should just buy himself a chair. But if he does that then Robards will win, and he’ll never live it down. No. There’s no way around it. He has to win. Draco scowls at him and he gets closer, feeling the heat of Draco surrounding him like a Warming charm.

“How about this,” Harry brings his hands up to rub along Draco’s biceps, feeling the hard muscle underneath his fingertips, “you use those amazing Slytherin wiles to help me win, and I’ll visit Dolores for the next three months?” He gives Draco a grin, looking at him through his eyelashes. He watches as Draco visibly melts, his lips twitching at the corner as he tries not to smile.

“I help you…” he sighs dramatically, “win… and you visit Dolores for three months and let me redecorate your living room?” Harry laughs and stands on his tiptoes, pressing a forceful kiss to Draco’s lips, the normal thrill of it rushing through him.

“Done!” Harry bends down and picks up the broom at Draco’s feet, “Now what do you say to flying out of here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Draco Tops Harry](http://dracotops-harry.livejournal.com/) fest on LJ
> 
> Kudos and comments are seen, read and loved! Thanks for reading.


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